


Partners and Friends

by Wanderer



Series: The Night of the Secret [1]
Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:46:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This story will become slash, I promise.</p></blockquote>





	Partners and Friends

 

Partners and Friends

 

 

Oscar Wilde once wrote, “Each man kills the thing he loves.”

  

He was speaking from bitter experience. 

  

So am I.

  

You could say that James West and I did just that.  We murdered our friendship, just as surely as if we’d used a bullet.  Yet each of us killed with the smallest of things.  Not guns or swords, but tiny, seemingly harmless things that no one else would even have noticed. 

 

But we were partners, and so they were seen.  We were the best of friends; and so they were heard.  And so our friendship died.

 

My name was Artemus Gordon then.  I have a different one now, and I’m alone.  But I will never forget how it happened….

 

**********************************************************************************

 

Compromises are at their heart, uneasy things.  Halfway points between what one wants and what one is allowed to have.  But in life, as in war, they are sometimes essential.

 

After I joined the Secret Service in 1870, the largest personal compromise I made took the form of occasional vacations alone.  At times, I needed to separate myself from my partner, James West, like I needed air to breathe.  I think part of me knew, from the moment I laid eyes on the young agent, that Jim would be trouble. 

 

It wasn’t hard to foresee.  For one thing, West was stunningly handsome.  For another, the moment I put out my hand and said, “Hello.  I’m Artemus Gordon, your new partner,” West fixed me with one of the most piercing stares I’d ever encountered. 

 

 “James T. West.  Pleased to meet you,” he smiled.

 

“Likewise.” I smiled back politely as we shook hands.  But a surge of something distinctly impolite ran up my spine at his touch, at his first glance.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to prolong our handshake, or get the hell out. 

 

I looked my new partner over instead. 

 

I was used to sizing men up quickly; and James T. West made a remarkable first impression.

 

He wasn’t a tall man, but broad-shouldered and well-built nonetheless, with an air of coiled strength and energy.  He had clear, light blue eyes; and while we shook hands, those wolfish eyes held mine intently, boring into me as if West meant to ferret out every secret I’d ever had, through sheer force of will.  West’s voice was low and resonant.  His smile was charming, yet edged with the hint of sharp teeth. 

 

I remember thinking, Artie old son, this one’s middle name must be Trouble, with a capital T. 

 

I knew instantly that I was in the presence of a dangerous man.

 

I wondered if West realized that he was, too.

 

When our gazes met, it felt like the first light touch of foils in a fencing match.  _En garde_!

 

I think West’s forceful gaze probably decided the matter for me pretty quickly.  Since I’ve never been the kind to back down from a challenge, when I caught him sizing me up as well, my formerly merely polite smile soon deepened into one of genuine glee. 

 

I thought, Being his partner should be interesting.  Hell, it’ll probably even be fun – if I can stay alive long enough to enjoy it.

 

*************************************************************************

As it turned out, I was right about all of it:  James’ character, and the dangers—and joys—inherent in our partnership.

 

Unfortunately for me, I’ve never run from trouble.  In fact, I’ve always rather thrived on complications.  Sometimes I think that’s why I became an actor.  Any profession where one must regularly pretend to be other people is not for the faint of heart.

 

I soon discovered that the same could be said of being James West’s partner.

 

However, I did try my best to avoid complications with Jim.  Hence my solitary vacations.  But by the time the spring of 1875 grew near, it seemed that the journeys I’d taken alone for years were both not enough and too much, all at once.  Not quite enough to satisfy me, yet too much for Jim to accept quietly. 

 

I was in my room on the train, getting ready for my latest vacation when Jim walked in.  Seeing me packing, he asked, “Where are you off to this time, Artemus?”

 

“San Francisco _.”_

“That’s kind of a long way, isn’t it?”

 

 “A day and a half ride at most,” I shrugged, a bit surprised at his unaccustomed interest.  “It’s not so far when you consider the delights at the end of the trail, Jim.  The theater, the opera, dinner at Holland House…”  I smiled, just thinking of it.  “And I’ll probably look up some of my old friends in the theater, while I’m at it.”

 

Jim didn’t smile back.  Something odd flickered through his eyes, but it was gone before I could identify it.  “Want me to come with you?” he asked.

 

The question surprised me, so much that I wasn’t sure how to answer it.  I was of two minds about it.  Yes, I would’ve loved to have Jim’s company on the ride to San Francisco; yet no, I didn’t want him to come along.  We practically lived in each other’s pockets most of the time as it was:  in hotel rooms, out on trails, and in our sumptuously appointed private train, the Wanderer.  What was the point of going elsewhere for breathing room, if Jim came along too?

 

Unable to quickly come up with a good answer as to why he couldn’t accompany me, I floundered a little.  “Don’t be silly!” I said gruffly.  “It’s not that far, and I’ll have my gun.  And in case you haven’t noticed, Jim, I’m not in my dotage yet.  I don’t need a nursemaid.”  I stopped suddenly, realizing that I’d replied harshly to his offer; and worse, that I’d really done so because he’d trespassed, all unknowing, on the edges of my secrets – and my pain.  When James fell silent behind me, I regretted my hasty rebuff.  I wondered what it signified to him.  It had been foolish, I knew.  Did I really want Jim to realize that I took vacations mainly to leave him behind?

 

 “I know.  Just thought you might like some company, is all.”  Jim’s voice was mild, rather than angry.  Sufficient rebuke in itself, for my rudeness.

 

Taking a deep breath, I gentled my voice and turned to smile at him.  “Sorry.  I appreciate the offer, but I feel the need to go off on one of my solitary adventures, for a change.  Besides, I won’t be alone long.  Once I get there, I’ll be visiting friends.”  I turned to smile at Jim, to soften my rejection.

 

Jim didn’t say a word, but his even expression somehow managed to convey stubborn determination nonetheless.  I knew that look well; and to have it aimed at me over this was faintly alarming.  It meant that if I didn’t say something fast, Jim would insist, and I’d have to give up on the idea of taking a solitary vacation.  And I needed one, more than Jim could possibly know.

 

“I assure you, my boy, you’d be sorry if you came along,” I added, trying hard not to sound the slightest bit desperate.  “All that talk of the theater – you’d be bored in less than an hour.”

 

Jim tilted his head, thinking it over.  I held my breath.

 

“Okay.  Maybe you’re right.”  With a shrug, Jim gave in at last, his face settling into one of the blank, stoic looks he excelled at.  Which could’ve meant that he’d accepted my assurance of his boredom without a second thought, or that he hadn’t believed one word of it.  With Jim, it was sometimes hard to tell. 

 

I smiled at him anyway, hoping he didn’t sense how relieved I was to have won.

 

Jim paused for a moment, then asked, “When will you be back?”

 

“In a couple of weeks, I suppose.  Colonel Richmond granted me a furlough for that much time.”

 

James looked at me hard then, his eyes narrowing, his gaze sharpening.  Was that doubt I saw in his eyes?  If so, I was both surprised and a bit insulted.  Did he really think I’d lie to him about when I’d return?  Ironic really, since that was one aspect of my trip about which I’d told him the absolute truth.  Feeling a bit uneasy, even a little defensive under his probing gaze, I added, “I should be back by the sixteenth, at the latest.”

 

I’d never been so specific about exactly when I planned to come back from one of my vacations before.  Then again, Jim had never asked me to be.  He’d never asked to accompany me on one, either.  It wasn’t as if we were attached at the hip, after all.  But to my surprise, even that information didn’t really seem to satisfy Jim this time.  He nodded, yet he lingered, his eyes still oddly intent on me.  Was he trying to think of some other way to convince me to let him come along?  Or having failed at that, was he trying to come up with some reason to keep me from going?

 

Just let him try, I thought grimly.  I’d run out of patience with him.  Col. Richmond had already given me permission to take time off.  Jim had no say whatsoever in what I chose to do with it.  And right now, I had more important things to think of than his strangely proprietary attitude.  I turned back to my packing, trying to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything I’d need on my trip.  I expected Jim would leave then, but I didn’t hear him turn and go.  I suppressed a sigh, but ignored him and spent a few moments completing my task anyway, hoping Jim would take the hint and leave. 

 

But he didn’t.  I could feel him there, a silent yet somehow disquieting presence in my doorway.  And by the time I was finished, I was distinctly annoyed with him.  I turned back to him and added, “Is there anything else?”  I was being sarcastic.  I’d already made up my mind not to answer any more questions. 

 

Jim shook his head, as if he sensed that.  “Not right now.  Have fun, Artie,” he said, with a slight smile that could’ve been genuine, but seemed rather ironic. 

 

I frowned.  ‘ _Not right now_?’  What the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?  I opened my mouth to ask him, but he turned on his heel and left without another word.

 

I shook my head, exasperated.  Bad enough that Jim had tried to pry into something that was none of his business.  But that hint that even his prying hadn’t satisfied him, and that he might take up his questions again when I came back, made me set my jaw.  Jim could be such an arrogant bastard sometimes.

 

I should’ve been grateful, I suppose, that Jim’s strange little inquisition was over.  But he’d caught me off guard, and the idea that he thought he had the right to continue probing into my private life made me angry.  I couldn’t help but wonder what had caused Jim to ask questions about my time off work like that.  As usual, he hadn’t given me so much as a hint. 

 

Damn James anyway!  Sometimes he could make his face expressionless enough to outdo the Egyptian Sphinx.

 

*************************************************************************************

 

After I talked to Artie, I headed out to the stable car.  I needed to think, and I’d often found that the best place to do that was while tending to my horse. 

 

Something bothered me.  Something about Artie; and I didn’t like that.  We were partners, but more, we were friends.  I trusted Artie like I’d trusted almost no one else in my whole life.  But just now, while we were talking, I’d sensed an odd tension in him.  I’d had the feeling that Artie was -- well, not up to something necessarily, but… hiding something.  I’ve always been able to read people, and my gut told me now that Artemus Gordon was keeping something from me about his trip to San Francisco. 

 

It didn’t surprise me that Artemus had secrets.  He’d been an actor after all, as well as a spy in the war between the States -- though Artie never talked much about that.  I’d never been much of a talker myself, though.  And knowing that my partner had a past, maybe even a slightly shady one, had never bothered me before.  Why was it getting under my skin now?

 

My stallion, Hawk raised his dark head and nickered gladly at the sight of me.  “Hey, big boy,” I murmured.  He butted my shoulder gently and I stroked his head, smiling in spite of myself.  His strength, beauty and obvious affection warmed me.  Being around horses had always calmed me somehow.  Maybe it was because for the most part, horses are simple, gentle, trusting animals.

 

_They don’t lie, and they don’t keep secrets._

The thought came flavored with a resentment that was close to pain.  Surprised by the unexpected intensity of it, I frowned.  I picked up a curry comb and started on Hawk’s mane, smoothing it, picking the snarls out of it, while I tried to sort things out.  Did I really believe Artie had lied to me?

 

Artie wasn’t a liar. 

 

Then again, he was -- we both were.  Working for the Secret Service required it; and Artie was incredibly skilled at it, far better than me.  But the lies Artie told were professional ones, necessary for the work we did.  Hell, I’d had many reasons to be glad of my partner’s skill at dissembling.  It’d saved both our necks many times.  So why was it was bothering me now?

 

Because now he’s lyingto _me_.

 

Somehow, while I worked on my horse, that odd impression had hardened into a strong suspicion.  I’d gotten the feeling that Artie was shading the truth about his vacation, at the very least.  But why?  I’d never questioned his preference for taking trips on his own, every once in awhile.  We were together so often, I’d just assumed that Artie needed to take the occasional break from my company.  It’d never bothered me.  Artemus was the best partner I’d ever had, and the closest friend as well.  If he chose to take off on his own occasionally, I could hardly complain.  Especially since he always seemed so cheerful when he got back.

 

So why had Artie felt the need to lie this time?  I turned our conversation over in my mind, trying to find the source of my unease.  Artie had seemed cheerful as usual, had mentioned looking up some of his friends from the theater.  Nothing unusual about that…

 

 _But I didn’t like it_. 

 

I’d felt an oddly dark pang when Artie had mentioned getting together with his theatrical friends.  I didn’t understand that either.  Artie had more friends in more places than anyone I’d ever known.  If anything, I’d always rather admired him for it.  So what had that strange feeling been? 

 

I pushed that aside for the moment, annoyed at myself for getting sidetracked.  I was trying to figure Artie out, not me.  Hawk nickered softly as I combed out his long mane; and the slow, methodic strokes and the big stallion’s warmth seemed to clear my mind.  Suddenly, I remembered the instant when Artie’s manner had changed while we talked.  It was when I’d asked him if I could come along on his trip.  His eyes had darted away from me then, and I’d heard the hint of something like unease or even anger in his voice.

 

When I finished my horse’s mane, I started currying Hawk’s dark coat, starting with his head.  I thought about why I’d offered to go with Artie some more.  I’d never asked to come along on one of his vacations before.  Why this time?  Despite what Artie had said, I hadn’t done it because I was worried about him.  Artie was strong, sharp-eyed and brilliantly resourceful; and he always took his gun when he went off alone.  Still, something had been bothering me; and Artie’s testiness and his insistence on traveling alone weren’t it. 

 

I started working along Hawk’s shoulder and belly, with longer, stronger strokes of the comb.  Hawk shifted a little, but didn’t protest.  I smiled to myself for a second, thinking that like any dandy – like _me,_ when it came to that -- he loved being well-groomed.  While I cleaned his black coat, I searched my memory again for a deeper source of doubt.  What had made me press Artie to let me come with him?

 

The thought came, unbidden:  I felt like maybe Artie wasn’t going to come back.

 

I froze, blinking in surprise.  Where the hell had I gotten that idea?  It was sillier than the first one, that Artie was hiding something.  I snorted to myself. 

 

Hawk turned his head and blew softly at me, an inquiring noise, as if to ask why I’d stopped grooming him.  I realized, I’d cleaned the dirt off of him pretty thoroughly now.  It was time to start making him shine.  I smiled and reached over to exchange the curry comb for a dandy brush, and began stroking that over his head and neck.  Before I was done, my stallion’s black coat would be gleaming.

 

I kept thinking about Artie while I worked.  By the time I switched to a body brush for the last phase of Hawk’s grooming, I told myself I had to be wrong about this.  I had no evidence for either of the strange ideas our conversation had given me.  My partner wouldn’t lie to me; and there was no way in hell that he’d ever leave the Secret Service, either.  Especially not on the pretext of going off on a vacation.  I couldn’t understand where I’d come up with either notion.  Just because Artie needed a vacation?  Or because he’d gotten peeved while I was talking to him?  What, was I turning into a woman?  And a fanciful, clingy one, at that.  The man was allowed some time alone, and an occasional mood too, for God sakes.  He put up with mine often enough.  Maybe I’d annoyed Artie by hanging around asking him so many questions, when he was busy trying to pack his bags.  Or maybe he’d just gotten the mistaken impression that I was trying to coddle him, by offering to tag along on his trip.  Judging by his sharp response that he wasn’t in his dotage yet, that seemed likely.  Either way, it was nothing to worry about.

 

By the time I had Hawk’s coat clean and shining, I’d pushed aside my doubts about Artie. 

 

I patted my now sleek, contented horse, and decided that what we both really needed was a good hard run.  “How ‘bout it, boy?” I asked him, smiling.  “That’ll clear the cobwebs out of my head, and it won’t hurt you either.”

 

Hawk raised his shining dark head and neighed eagerly, as if he’d understood and agreed with me.  I patted his neck fondly, then turned to get my saddle.  A few minutes later, I headed him away from the train at an easy canter that soon turned into a gallop.  It was a beautiful morning, the kind that quickened a man’s blood, made you glad to be alive.  The fields near the train were green with spring, and birds were singing.  I gave Hawk his head, losing myself in the feel of his powerful, surging strides, in the cool morning air and sunlight. 

 

By the time I rode back to the Wanderer a couple of hours later, the last of my strange doubts and suspicions had melted away, banished by the feeling of well-being my vigorous ride had given me, and the sheer beauty of that perfect spring morning.

 

Artemus had already left.

 

I refused to see any significance in that at all. 

 

 

 

**************************************************************************************

 

When I went to saddle up my horse a bit later, Jim’s horse was gone.  He must’ve gone for a morning ride, as he often did when he weren’t working.  I felt a bit relieved.  I wasn’t looking forward to being quizzed any further about my trip.  As I rode away from the train myself, I tried to put our last, slightly odd conversation out of my mind. 

 

I thought about my old theatrical friends in San Francisco instead.  I wondered if Katie Mallon, aka Katie Malloy, and her manager Andy Stoller were still there.  Tom Leebrook, the gangly but shrewd proprietor of the Bijou Opera House.  And Harvey Stein and his wife, the lovely Mary.  They were an acting team of considerable talent, and old and dear friends as well.  I’d seen newspaper announcements of their current engagement at the Broadway Opera House.  Mary was still young and lovely enough to play ingénues, and she did it so well. 

 

I smiled to myself, thinking about her.  I’d telegraphed Mary before I left, informing her of my expected arrival date in San Francisco, and my desire to have a reunion with all of my friends if possible.  I hoped she managed it.  It truly would be good to see them all again. 

 

But for some reason, when I made camp under the shelter of a little stand of oak trees that night, my thoughts turned back to Jim.  It was rare for there to be any tension between us, and I didn’t like the fact that it had been caused by one of my vacations.  They’d never caused a problem between us before.  I drank coffee from a tin cup, stared into the small fire I’d kindled, and brooded a bit.  What had Jim been thinking, offering to come along and then quizzing me about when I’d return?  What had that odd look in his eyes meant? 

 

A disturbing idea occurred to me.  Had Jim actually been worried about me, rather than merely curious?  Did James see me as an aging man, unfit to travel alone on horseback for days on end?  Someone who needed to be watched over, coddled and protected, like a woman?  Did he somehow imagine that I could no longer take care of myself? 

 

An even worse thought followed.  If Jim believed that I was getting old, then he must also think that I was becoming unfit for our Secret Service work!  Was that what he’d been hinting at?  Christ! 

 

I tried to banish the unwelcome theory, but it wasn’t easy.  The problem was, it explained Jim’s questions rather neatly.

 

I went over our conversation several times in my mind while I rode towards San Francisco.  Each time, my jaw tightened with anger at the idea that Jim might see me as elderly or infirm in any way.  Granted, I was no longer a spring chicken, nor was I as incredibly skilled at fighting as Jim was.  But I was still tall, strong and possessed of a sharp intellect; a man in my prime.  Hadn’t I hauled James out of harm’s way, more times than I could count?  Hadn’t I rescued him from Dr. Loveless and many other villains, time and time again?  How dare Jim assume I was unfit! 

 

I must’ve grown angrier than I realized, thinking of that.  My horse finally began shifting under me uneasily, snorting and throwing up his head as if he sensed my agitation.  Silly beast.  I’ll never understand what Jim sees in horses.  Though they’re undoubtedly useful, they’re also smelly, uncomfortable creatures, prone to shying and bucking at the slightest provocation.  My gelding Flame was steadier than most, but even he had his limits.  When I saw him lay his ears back, I knew I was about to be bucked off by my own nag like some greenhorn.  I knew what Jim would say, if he were here.  _Relax, Artie. You’re scaring your horse_! 

 

It was good advice.  I blew out a calming breath, leaned forward and patted Flame’s neck.  “Good horse, Flame.  Good boy,” I murmured in the low, soothing voice that I’d learned worked well with nervous horses.  “Settle down, you silly creature,” I added, in the same soft, crooning tone.  Flame flicked his ears back at me, snorted once, then decided to obey.  To my relief, his gait smoothed out, and I patted him gratefully once more.  I realized, I needed to follow my own advice.  I had to settle down too.  Stop acting like some silly goose of a girl, getting my feathers all ruffled over nothing, and consider the matter logically.

 

Once I did, I realized that the way I’d interpreted Jim’s questions was unwarranted, to say the least.  James West had never been a man who’d beat around the bush.  If he truly felt that I’d grown too old for our type of work, he’d’ve told me so.  But Jim had never once shown any doubt in my abilities, on any of our missions.  He always expected me to pull my own weight in our investigations.  

 

The logical conclusion was, I had nothing to fear on that score.  I felt both relieved and more than a little silly, that I’d been stewing for nothing.  What James had meant by his questions was still a mystery, but it wasn’t worth fretting over.  It could’ve been mere curiosity, after all.  Or maybe he’d just wanted to come to San Francisco.

 

The curse of being an actor and taking on many faces, is that sometimes you think too much.  You start to assume that everyone else is as devious and complicated as you.  But I knew that wasn’t true of James.  He had his depths all right, and a tendency to like playing games, but when it counted, he was honest.  If James had something on his mind that I needed to know, he’d tell me.  Until he did, there was no sense worrying about it.

 

Glad that I’d managed to quell my doubts, I rode onward with a lighter heart. 

 

The next morning, when the wind freshened, I caught the distinctive salty tang of the sea; which meant that San Francisco was just beyond the horizon.  I saddled Flame and headed on eagerly, hoping to see some of my old friends again, and ready to enjoy yet one more vacation in the beautiful, bustling city by the bay.

 

As Flame’s steady gait ate up the miles, I started to sing an aria from Die Fleidermaus.  The closer I got to San Francisco, the more my sense of happy anticipation built.  I was riding into the city alone, but one way or another, as I’d told Jim, I wouldn’t be lonely once I got there.

  

******************************************************************************

 

San Francisco was wonderful, as always.  So were my friends.  Mary, the darling girl, had gathered my other friends together just as I’d hoped, and we shared several delicious meals.  Not to mention hours of delightful conversation about theatrical productions in the city, and some wonderfully salacious gossip as well. 

 

I was lucky enough to see the Steins play Benedick and Beatrice in “Much Ado About Nothing,” too.  They both delivered sparkling performances, and the crowd gave them several much-deserved ovations afterward.  I surged to my feet along with the rest, and yelled “Bravo!” with the best of them. 

 

Backstage, Mary looked positively radiant, aglow with the joy actors feel when they know they’ve touched their audience.  “My dear girl!” I said, kissing her cheek.  “You were _wonderful_!  I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a beautiful or talented Beatrice in all my life.”

 

She smiled back at me, then kissed my cheek.  “Thank you, Artie.”

 

Harvey grinned at me over her shoulder while he removed the last traces of his makeup.  “Artemus, you old flatterer,” he teased.  “Are you trying to steal my wife?  _Again_?”

 

“Nonsense!  My appreciation is merely – theatrical,” I smiled, kissing Mary’s hand with a flourish.  “And yes, Harvey, you were wonderful too,” I added slyly.

 

Harvey laughed, and rose to take a bow.  “I’m so pleased you noticed.”

 

Oddly, in that instant, surrounded by my laughing, triumphant friends, I missed Jim terribly.  I wished that he had come with me, and that I could introduce him to them.  Then again – as there were always lovely actresses around whenever I visited them, perhaps it was better that he hadn’t come along, I thought sadly.  I probably wouldn’t’ve seen much of Jim anyway. 

 

I decided that I’d devoted myself too entirely to the joys of the mind, thus far on my vacation.  It was time for some more earthy pursuits.  So after dining with the Steins and some other friends ‘till the wee hours that evening, I took myself off to a high-class brothel.  I only had two requests when I visited such places alone.  One was that my companions be of a certain physical type.  The other, that they not talk all that much. 

 

Silence helped foster the illusion I sought; and I always paid well enough that they didn’t mind.

 

After more than a week of immersing myself in cultural pursuits as well as the pleasures of the flesh, I was ready to leave San Francisco.  I’d had enough of idling as I pleased for awhile.  I felt invigorated, both mind and body recharged and humming with energy.  I found myself looking forward to our next mission for the Secret Service, whatever it might turn out to be.  A little action, a little intrigue, would suit me nicely.  I decided to begin my ride back towards Watsonville after breakfast.

 

While shaving and brushing my hair in my hotel room, I hummed an aria I’d heard the night before at the opera.  Then I opened my rather battered traveling case to pack my things for the trip back to the Wanderer.  As I did, the strange conversation I’d had with Jim before I left crossed my mind again. 

 

I grimaced, wondering why that was still rattling around in my head.  I’d already decided that the suspicions Jim’s unexpected request to come with me had aroused were ridiculous, and unfair to Jim to boot.  I thought I’d laid those imaginary devils to rest already, on the ride to San Francisco.  I snorted to myself.  Jim was such a dedicated Secret Service agent that if he’d ever suspected I was unfit in any way, no doubt he’d’ve already telegraphed Colonel Richmond, to ask for a new partner.  Since he hadn’t, I had no reason to worry.

 

It crossed my mind then, that perhaps it wasn’t Jim who saw me as old.  Maybe I was a bit worried about it myself, though I wasn’t usually prone to such self doubt.  _If that’s true, you’re slipping_ , I chided myself ruefully. 

 

But I didn’t think a fear of aging was the real cause of my anger and doubts.  They sprang from my secret, from the emptiness, the hollow place that lived always inside me.  And from the fear that raised its ugly head, on the rare occasions that Jim touched on matters I preferred not to discuss.

 

Matters like my stubbornly solitary vacations.

 

I hoped that Jim wouldn’t raise the subject again, or ask me any more uncomfortable questions about them when I returned.

 

I couldn’t give up my vacations alone.  Infrequent though they were, they kept me sane.  They were the only solution I’d been able to conceive of for the problem that plagued me.  They were the only relief – I won’t say cure – that I’d ever found for the hunger that’d burned in me since the day I’d first laid eyes on James West.

 

Besides, my vacations also gave me the freedom to attend the theater, opera and ballet.  All the cultural joys that larger cities made possible, and of which Jim and I seldom got to partake while we were working.  Still, whenever I rode away on vacation without my partner, I always felt a little like two halves of me were at war.  One half always felt like I’d left my right arm behind, when Jim and I were apart for a long stretch of time.  But the other half drew a sigh of relief at not having to see Jim every day, at least for awhile.  That part of me reveled in easing the constant ache I felt with willing, if paid-for, flesh. 

 

It wasn’t that I couldn’t indulge when I was with James.  I did, but only with women.  We sometimes visited bawdy houses together, when the mood took us.  Our work usually prevented us from courting respectable women.  We were seldom in one place long enough to try; and even when we were, it would’ve been dangerous to involve innocents in our profession.  But we were both too young to live like monks because of that. 

 

Still, I always felt… easier about visiting such places somehow, when James wasn’t with me. 

 

Maybe it was because my choice of partners at some of the exclusive houses I visited alone, would’ve surprised James.  Perhaps.  But what Jim didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  And I’d be damned if I’d let him hurt me, either.   Since my deepest needs were usually neglected while I was with Jim, I made sure they were satisfied whenever I went away.  As best I could anyway, given the circumstances.  San Francisco had long been one of my favorite spots to take vacations, precisely because it boasted many elegant places where I could see to those needs in perfect anonymity.

 

As always, this time around, the city had not disappointed.

 

**********************************************************************************

 

Despite his probing questions when I departed, when I returned to our train on the 16th as I’d promised, James seemed glad to see me.  More than glad.  Usually when I got back from one of my vacations, Jim just smiled and shook my hand.   But this time when I climbed onboard, he used our customary handshake to pull me into a tight hug.  “Artie!” he patted my back fondly.  “I’m glad you’re back.”

 

I was a bit stunned, but happily so.  I smiled and thumped Jim’s back, equally happy to set eyes on him again, and touched by his unexpected embrace.  “Thanks Jim,” I said.  “It’s good to be back.  But what’s this?  Were things that boring in my absence, that you actually found time to miss me?”

 

I expected either a shrug or a joke in return.  To my surprise, Jim pulled back to look me in the eye, and smiled sweetly instead. “Yes.”

 

I grinned at him in delight.  “Well.  I’ve have to see what I can do to liven things up a bit for you, hmm?”

 

Jim laughed, but he still didn’t quite let go of me.  His hands lingered on my shoulders, and I made no move to pull away.  I smiled at him instead, soaking up his attention like the starving man I’d always been.

 

I could hardly believe my good luck.  I’d wondered what Jim’s reception would be, after the awkwardness between us when I left.  But I’d never expected such an effusive welcome, not in my wildest dreams.  James had never been one for outward displays of emotion.  So the infrequent occasions when his control broke or he loosed it for whatever reason, were always memorable, even precious to me.  That was the first time he’d ever told me he’d missed me with such a warm look on his face.   I had no idea what’d prompted it, but I decided on the spot to file that moment away in my memory, to take out and look at like a cherished photograph, whenever I felt bad in future.

 

Jim finally let go of me, and turned to open the door of the parlor car.  “How was your trip?” he asked, as I followed him inside.

 

“Wonderful!  I made it to the opera, several plays, and -- oh, Jim!  Dinner with my friends at Holland House was _sensational_!” 

 

Jim smiled as we walked into the car together.  “Let me guess.  You had their beef stroganoff.”

 

I laughed.  “You know me so well!”

 

A wave of deep affection surged through me then, as I looked at Jim.  _Such a welcome, such a smile,_ I thought _, and such eyes._ How was it that I sometimes managed to forget, when I went away, what amazing eyes Jim had?  They were unusual.  Brilliant, pale blue eyes with dark rings around their edges.  Intense, penetrating and changeable, they were the only part of Jim that seemed almost fey.  Depending on the light, Jim’s mood or what he was wearing, they sometimes looked grey as well, or even green, like the warm sea off a tropical island.  Jim was a hard, pragmatic man, yet I’d often thought that his eyes would’ve suited a fairy King.  What an Oberon he would’ve made!  I smiled to myself, thinking of Jim in a Shakespeare play.

 

But the stage’s loss was my gain.  Well, mine and that of every young woman Jim came in contact with, I reflected wryly.  With those eyes, his high cheekbones, full lips, square jaw and marvelous physique, Jim drew women to him like bees to honey.  And not just them; men too.  Though Jim had never given any outward sign that he noticed how everyone, male and female, tended to follow him with their eyes when he walked down the street, he was too observant not to.  I’d never asked him if being admired by both sexes bothered him.  I rather doubted it.  In fact, I wondered if that was part of what put the cock in Jim’s walk, so to speak.  He did tend to strut rather than stroll when he walked.  And it would bolster any man’s ego, surely, to be as universally admired as James West was.  Still, I consoled myself with the fact that I was the one person lucky enough to share Jim’s life and work. 

 

“Sounds like you had a great time, Artie,” Jim smiled.  He sat down on the arm of our gold couch and waved a hand.  “Come on, sit down and tell me all about it.”

 

“All right.  Just let me put my saddlebag away, and I will.”

 

I hurried off toward my compartment, basking internally in the unusual warmth of my partner’s welcome.  It seemed like whatever had been troubling James before I left, somehow must’ve been resolved while I was gone.  It was unusual for Jim to sit down to talk after one of my trips like this.  He must’ve genuinely missed me while I was away.  I whistled happily as I stowed away my gear, feeling like a very lucky man.  I smiled, thinking how unlikely it was that an ex-actor such as myself had wound up with a man like James West as my best friend….

 

 ***************************************************************************

 

Our friendship hadn’t come about through any design of our own.  Colonel Dean Richmond was the man who sought us both out for the Secret Service, and who decided to make us partners.  I knew very little about Jim before we met, and most of it came from Richmond.  He told me that West was a favorite of President Grant’s, and I remembered hearing that West was also a war hero. 

 

Despite his youth, West had risen quickly to the rank of Major in the war, been decorated for bravery, and even became an aide de camp to General Grant himself.  And after the war, when many chose never to lift a gun again, West took on another dangerous job in defense of his country:  that of a Secret Service agent.   By the time Col. Richmond recruited me for the Secret Service, West had already begun to make a name for himself there as well.  Those actions and choices spoke loudly about certain aspects of the man.  Even before we met, it seemed clear to me that courage and loyalty had to be part of West’s character.

 

However, those qualities were undoubtedly not the whole of it.  Whatever else West might be, was a mystery to me at first.  As a former war veteran turned actor, I knew full well how complicated men could be.  I’d known men during the war who were considered to be good soldiers, but who were still dangerous.  Ruthless, cruel men who actually enjoyed causing others pain, or even dealing death.  Though I was a bit of a reprobate myself, even I had certain standards.  I knew I could not work with West if he were cruel or sadistic.  I hoped that Colonel Richmond wouldn’t hire such a man as an agent; but there was no doubt, the work we’d be doing would be extremely dangerous.  I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t been partnered up with a man who enjoyed killing. 

 

Though I knew and respected Richmond, I didn’t know West well enough to be completely sure of him.  And since I’d be risking my neck as his partner, I decided to watch James West for a time, to judge his mettle for myself. 

 

At first, I found West to be rather cold.  Though strikingly handsome, he was difficult to read.  His cool smile and confidence were difficult barriers to get past.  Behind them, West kept to himself.  I discovered early on that he was far from stupid, but he wasn’t forthcoming either.  At least, not with anything other than work-related matters.  There West was more than efficient, he was bold and confident.  Sometimes recklessly so.  Despite that, I soon found that we worked well together.  Though we had very different styles as investigators, and usually took off in different directions during our cases, when we met up and pooled what we’d learned, we quickly produced results.  Between West’s physical prowess and my talent for acting and formulating explosives, we made a highly effective team.  But any time I tried to turn our conversations to something more personal, West either brushed me off or found an excuse to leave.  It took me some time to even begin to understand him.

  

*************************************************************

 

The first time I got a glimpse of the real James West happened about six months after we’d become partners.  We’d had a somewhat difficult day, tracking a large gang of murderers through the Southwest.  We suspected they were hiding out either in Flagstaff, Arizona or somewhere near there.  Jim and I had separated before going into town, as we usually did.  I’d spent the better part of the day trying to cajole information about the men we sought from a suspicious Sheriff and several other uncooperative townspeople, sadly without much success.  Jim had gone to check out the local saloons, to see what he could pick up in the way of rumors about them. 

 

Jim came back to the train later than I’d been expecting him that evening.  I heard him call out to me before he’d even opened the door to the parlor car.  “Artie?”

 

I’d already washed up by then, and sat down with a book and a glass of brandy.  I was so absorbed in my reading that I didn’t look up when Jim came in.  “Yes.  Were you expecting someone else?” I murmured absently, teasing him a little. 

 

Jim didn’t answer.  I heard him shut the door behind him, but instead of coming on into the parlor as usual, he stopped just inside the door.  Eventually, his uncharacteristic stillness made me look up.  The instant I saw his face, all thought of jokes and teasing vanished. 

 

“ _Jim!_ ”  I surged up off of the couch, ashamed that I’d teased him so carelessly.

 

Jim had been in a fight.  That in itself was nothing unusual, but this one had been savage by the looks of it, even for him.  His face was bruised in several places, and the left side was covered with blood.  His mouth and left eyebrow were split open.  His neck, shirt and pants were spattered with blood, and his shoulders sagged.  Yet despite all that, when I looked up at him, Jim gave me the biggest, happiest smile I’d ever seen.  “Artie!”  Something flared in his eyes -- relief?  Surprise?  Jim took a step towards me, still beaming, and for a second, I could’ve sworn I saw something like joy on his battered face.  Then he jerked to a stop, and the visible emotion in his eyes was swiftly banked.  Still, his gaze never left me.

 

“What happened?”  I went to him swiftly, badly alarmed.

 

Jim looked down at his boots.  Following his gaze, I noted that they were spattered with blood too.  “I’m okay, Artie,” he muttered. 

 

I paid no attention to that.  Even if his badly battered state hadn’t told me otherwise, I already knew that Jim habitually downplayed his injuries.  But I tried not to let the depth of my alarm show.  The months I’d once spent assisting a surgeon during the war helped.  I’d long since learned to keep calm in the face of dire injuries, or even death.  But back then I’d been helping strangers.  Jim was my partner, and I cared for him.  Despite my training, emotion surged in me at seeing him so bloodied.  Knowing Jim hated it if I got overly emotional, I checked my feelings with difficulty.  I didn’t touch him at first, though every instinct I had shouted that I needed to.  But I got close to him, so close I was almost stepping on his toes.

 

“You let me be the judge of that,” I retorted sternly.  “What happened?” I repeated.  It hadn’t escaped me that he’d avoided answering that.

 

Jim just shrugged and didn’t answer.  Again.  I frowned.  He’d seemed so – well, happy for lack of a better word, when he’d first come through the door.  Why had he turned so uncommunicative now?

 

“Damn it, Jim,” I swore under my breath.  My concern for him warred with anger at his silence.  Studying him, even up close, didn’t help me much.  I couldn’t tell how much of the blood that decorated his shirt and pants was his, or if he was badly injured.  Was that why he’d seemed to freeze?  Was he too badly injured to walk very far?  Damn it!  Why hadn’t I looked up when he first came through the door?  If I had, I could’ve seen if he was limping badly.  Luckily, the cuts on his mouth and eyebrow didn’t look that deep, though they’d bled a lot.  But then, head wounds always did.  Still, I could tell from the stiff way he was moving that there had to be more bruises, and probably worse ones, under his clothes.  

 

I wracked my brain for a way to discover just how badly he was hurt.  First I had to stall him, keep him from heading for his own compartment.  Sternness hadn’t worked, so I changed tactics.  I tried for a tone that was far more light-hearted than I felt.  “James, James, James.  Just who did you manage to insult this time?  I swear, I can’t take you anywhere.”  It was one of my better acting jobs, that casual teasing.  In truth, my heart was beating hard, and I was deeply worried.  It was all I could do not to tear Jim’s shirt off his shoulders, to bare his body forcibly so I could determine the extent of his injuries.  But there was no hope of that.  No, I had to talk Jim into taking his shirt off for me.  And to do that, I had to act as if it didn’t matter.

 

Finally, Jim muttered, “They said –” 

 

I stared sharply at him.  But he caught himself again, and choked back whatever he’d started to say.

 

Jim was keeping something from me, that much was obvious.  Curiously, he still seemed frozen in place, but his eyes remained locked on me with unusual intensity.  He didn’t say anything more, but instead of pushing past me impatiently like I expected, his eyes roamed over me from head to toe, as if he were checking me for injuries as well. 

 

A kind of chill came over me.  Something was very wrong here, and it went deeper than Jim’s injuries.  I considered the few words Jim had blurted. ‘They’ – so he’d been in a fight with more than one man.  Well, I’d already suspected that. It wasn’t even very unusual.  I’d seen Jim take on three or more men at a time more than once, and come out of it with hardly a scratch.  But this time, someone had bloodied him but good.  How many had there been?  Six, eight, twelve?  Jesus – had Jim gone up against a small army?

 

The chill I felt deepened.  I tipped Jim’s head back gently, partly to see if he’d let me, and partly to get a better look at his throat, which was splashed with blood.  To my relief, I didn’t see any deep gashes on his neck, which meant that the blood must be someone else’s.  When he didn’t push me away, I asked softly, “Who said, Jim?”  Jim’s bruises, the blood all over him, and the look in his eyes when he saw me – something terrible had happened to him tonight.  Yet he kept staring at me, which was strange.  Had Jim been worried for me?  “And what did they say?”

 

The question seemed to startle Jim.  His eyes, which had been roving over me restlessly, suddenly rose to fasten on my face.  “Nothing.”  Jim’s voice was harsh, and he looked away, breaking our gaze to hide his expression.  “It’s nothing.”

 

Damn it!  It was such a blatantly obvious lie that my uneasiness deepened.  Though the damage to his face wasn’t severe, it was unusual for Jim.  Someone had gotten to him this time. And seeing the stiff way he held himself, I felt even more driven to determine what damage might be hidden under his clothes.  Worse still, though he was doing his damnedest to hide it, as usual, I could see that something had shaken him, too.  I knew that no beating, especially one he could ride away from, would do that.  What’d been done to him, and by whom?  What the hell had happened, to crack James West’s iron self control? 

 

“You all right, Jim?”

 

“Yes,” he said stoically.  I shook my head, exasperated.  That was Jim’s stock answer whenever he was hurt.  By then, I’d come to suspect that he’d say the same thing even if he’d just been shot several times. 

 

But then Jim surprised me.  “Most of the blood’s not mine.”

 

I blinked.  Jim had actually offered the information, without me having to complain, grouse or try to browbeat it out of him.  Had Jim just tried to reassure me?

 

Before I could comment, Jim asked, “Did you find out anything useful?”

 

He was trying to change the subject, like he always did when things got even remotely personal.  Because he’d already been hurt, I allowed it -- for the moment.

 

“Not really.”  I shook my head in disgust.  “The Sheriff was too suspicious to say much.  I think he may be involved – or at least have been bribed to look the other way.  And no one else seemed much inclined to talk, either.  I think they’re afraid.”

 

Jim nodded. “I didn’t exactly get a friendly reception myself.”

 

“I can see that.”  I leaned even closer, peering down the neck of his shirt, looking for any signs of knife wounds or bullet holes. 

 

“I _said_ , I’m all right, Artie,” Jim repeated.  His words held no real heat.  If anything, he sounded a little amused.  But I was worried enough about him that I didn’t intend to let things go at that, no matter what Jim said.  Aside from my concern for him, if the fight he’d been in had anything to do with our investigation, and I was sure it did, then I needed to know more about it.  As his partner, it was my right to know; and if I had to push Jim to get the information out of him, so be it.  It wouldn’t be the first time that’d happened.

 

 “They know we’re here, Artie.”

 

“What?”  Jim’s quiet words startled me, as much as the fact that he’d just volunteered information.  Again. 

 

“The men we’re looking for.  Some of them were in town, waiting for me.  They knew my name and yours.  They know we’re hunting them.”  Jim settled down on the parlor couch, wincing as he moved. 

 

Finally, we were getting somewhere.  I was relieved that he’d finally told me something important, instead of forcing me to pry it out of him.  Still, it was bad news.  “All right,” I said grimly.  “How many of them were there?”

 

“Eight that I saw.  But I think there are more, back at their hideout.”

 

Eight, I thought.  Jim had been in a brawl with eight men.  Sweet Jesus!  Jim was lucky he’d made it back alive.

 

“You think the Sheriff warned them?”

 

Jim thought for a second, then shook his head.  “Even if he is in on it, I don’t think he had time.”

 

“But no one else knew we were coming.”

 

Jim shook his head impatiently.  “That doesn’t matter!” he snarled.  “That’s not the _point_!”

 

I blinked, surprised at his vehemence.  He must be in considerable pain, I thought, to react so.  Still, I resented the anger (or was it contempt?) that colored his words.  “No?  Then what is?  Enlighten me,” I said coldly.

 

Jim looked away again.  I saw him swallow hard, as if he were trying to master his anger.  “Sorry,” he grated.  “The point is, we’ve lost the element of surprise here.  I’ll have to find ‘em fast, before they have time to clear out.”

 

“What do you mean, _you’ll_ have to find them?”  It could’ve been an imprecise choice of words, but I doubted it.  I shot a sharp glance at Jim. 

 

He just set his jaw stubbornly, and didn’t answer.

 

He didn’t have to.  I knew Jim; and that wasn’t just some slip of the tongue.  Despite what they’d just done to him, he was thinking of leaping back into the fray, and trying to capture that whole gang all by himself.  Christ, I thought, my earlier alarm returning ten-fold.  The goddamn stubborn fool!  He still had a tendency to hare off alone, like he didn’t even have a partner.  I fixed Jim with my sternest glare.  “You’re not going off after them alone.” 

 

“No?” Jim glared back at me. 

 

I stared at him in disbelief.  Night was falling rapidly; it was already too dark outside to see properly.  “Just what do you think you can do in the dark, anyway, Jim?”  Before he could answer that, I rushed on.  “Besides, you’re hurt.  You wouldn’t be much good in another fight.  So unless you want to get us both killed, it’ll have to wait till morning.”  Setting out after them now would’ve been foolhardy, to say the least.  Still, it was the kind of thing Jim might try anyway, out of sheer stubbornness. 

 

“There’s a three-quarter moon tonight,” Jim pointed out stubbornly, right on cue.  “I could make it.”

 

“Have you lost your _mind_?  Make it where?” I protested angrily.  “We don’t even know where these men are holed up!  But we both know the entrance to their hideout will be disguised, so even in moonlight, we won’t have a chance in hell of finding it.  And we’d risk laming one or both of our horses trying to!”  I couldn’t believe Jim would suggest trying that.  He knew as well as I did that our horses would be twice as likely to stumble or even break their legs in gopher holes in the dark.  “Besides, they’ll be more likely to see us coming in the moonlight, and I’m not keen on being ambushed.  Especially in the dark.”

 

Jim’s eyes narrowed.  “Dammit, Artie –”

 

“ _No_!” I growled.  “Not tonight, and not without me!  That’s final.”  We didn’t butt heads often, but when we did, Jim usually got his way by simply riding off as soon as my back was turned.  Not this time, I thought.  The very idea of him taking off alone after the men who’d already beaten him so badly, chilled me.  Any gang who could damage James West, and worse, shake his confidence, wasn’t to be taken lightly.  Jim needed me with him this time.  Though at the moment, I had to suppress the urge to strike him myself, for his stubbornness. 

 

“Oh?  You’re giving the orders now, are you?” Jim’s voice was soft, but it’d gone tight in a way I knew boded ill.  His beautiful eyes had turned cold as stone.

 

Suddenly, it was all more than I could take.  Jim was smoldering, on the verge of exploding at me, and for what?  I wasn’t trying to coddle him, I just wanted to be his partner, to be at his side when he went into danger.  If he wouldn’t let me do that much, then I had no business being here.

 

I didn’t often lose my temper with him, but I let it loose then.  Fear for him fueled it, stoked the embers to a blazing fury.  Incensed, I strode over to him, leaned over and planted my hands on the back of the couch on either side of him, caging him in with my arms.  “You’re damn right I am!” I snarled.  “Someone else needs to, Jim, because you’re not thinking straight!  You’re staying here tonight, even if I have to tie you to a goddamn _chair_!”  My voice, my eyes, the way I’d trapped him -- I made it absolutely clear that he’d have to go through me, to get off the train.

 

Jim got the message.  He’d slumped a little on the couch, but he stiffened at my words and shot an even darker look up at me.  When our eyes locked, tension crackled in the air.  I stiffened.  I wasn’t sure if Jim was merely annoyed, or angry enough to strike me.  I was betting on the latter.  He looked like he was trying to decide if he could fight his way past me, despite his injuries.  I wasn’t sure if he was mad enough to try – or that he couldn’t succeed, hurt though he was.  I’d never seen a more dangerous fighter than James. 

 

But it didn’t matter.  Despite the darkness brewing in Jim’s eyes, I’d do what I had to, to keep him safe.   I held his angry gaze steadily, never blinking, and braced myself for a fight. 

 

After a long silence, Jim finally let out a harsh breath and dropped his gaze.  Either he’d realized that I’d meant what I said, and was too tired and hurt to risk another brawl, or he’d taken my point about the folly of rushing off into the dark.  In any case, I was grateful he hadn’t forced us into a fight.  I was prepared to subdue him and tie him down if necessary, to keep him from doing anything reckless while he was hurt.  But I didn’t like to think about what an actual brawl would do to our partnership. 

 

Jim surprised me by nodding, albeit reluctantly.  “Okay, Artie.  Have it your way.  We’ll go after them tomorrow,” he grated. 

 

 _We_ , I thought, immensely relieved.  Still -- Jim could be sneaky when he thought a case demanded action.  “Swear it,” I insisted.

 

Jim rolled his eyes.  Then, strangely, the corners of his bruised mouth turned up in a reluctant little smile.  I couldn’t imagine what amused him about this, but I kept my mouth shut, more interested in hearing his answer.  “We’ll go together, tomorrow.  I swear on my mother’s name, Artie,” he said softly.

 

“Okay.”  The tension flowed out of me in a rush.  Once Jim gave his word, he’d never break it.  I wondered if he realized what he’d revealed by that oath, though.  Men usually swore oaths on their father’s name.  But Jim’s mother had to be more important to him; or maybe more beloved.  Jim had never mentioned his mother before, and despite the situation, my curiosity was piqued.  I longed to ask him about her.  What her name was, and what she was like.  If she still lived.  But I knew my partner, and that would be pushing Jim too far.  I was lucky he’d given in about not pursuing the gang in the dark.  Nosy questions about his relatives might annoy him into taking back the oath he’d just sworn, so I throttled back my curiosity. 

 

Relieved, I smiled a little.  “We’ll leave at first light, all right?”

 

Jim nodded.

 

I relaxed and uncurled my fist, glad that we hadn’t come to blows after all.  Jim was already hurt enough.  I didn’t want to have to harm him any more, even to keep him safe.  I wished, for the hundredth time, that Jim wasn’t so close-mouthed.  That he’d just tell me what was wrong, and give me some more details about what the hell had happened to him today.  Obviously, he’d met up with eight of the men in the gang we were searching for.  But what had the fight been about? 

 

I’d probably never know.  Asking Jim would be useless.  If he’d wanted me to know, he’d’ve told me already.  I still needed to look him over though, so I forced my thoughts back to the job we faced in the morning instead.  “Do you know where to find them?”

 

Jim nodded.  “I have an idea.  I overheard a man talking in the saloon, about some caves up in the hills a couple miles west of town.  He said there’s some unusual activity going on up there lately.  And the guys who ambushed me in town rode off in that direction, after we tangled.  I think they’re hiding out there.”

 

Cold fingers walked down my spine at that.  Jim had revealed more than he’d meant to, I’m sure.  ‘Ambushed’, he’d said.  Jim hadn’t just been in a fight, he’d been ambushed while we were separated.  By eight men.  That answered my question about what had caused the fight.  For once, Jim hadn’t.  He’d been set upon.  But it chilled me all the same.  Damn it!  I wished fervently that I’d been there to help.  Injured though he was, against odds like that, Jim was still lucky he’d escaped at all. 

 

“All right.  We’ll check it out, then.  _In the morning_ ,” I repeated. 

 

To my surprise, Jim just nodded.  “Yeah.  First thing.”  But I could hear the weariness in his voice; and I knew he must be in considerable pain. 

 

His next request proved it.  “Could you pour me some whiskey, Artie?”

 

“Sure.”  I went to the sideboard, got a bottle and glass, and poured Jim a stiff drink.  I admit, I hoped the alcohol might mellow him a little, and make my task easier.  I wished I could just ask him to remove his shirt, and let me see how badly he’d been beaten.  His battered face hinted at a severe thrashing.  But I didn’t know him well enough to feel easy about making such a request; and he was so testy anyway, I hesitated to try.  For one thing, we’d almost come to blows a moment ago.  For another, there was also the matter of my secret.  I’d been very, very careful not to touch Jim too much, or to stare at him too often.  Asking him to remove his shirt might seem untoward, to say the least.  Still, knowing Jim, it could be covering up serious injuries.  I turned and handed him the glass, wondering how I could raise the subject without seeming too forward. 

 

“Thanks.”  Jim took the whiskey and knocked it back, draining half of it in a blink.  He sighed and closed his eyes, sinking down into the couch a little.

 

I waited patiently for a few moments, hoping the alcohol would soften him up a bit.  “Would you let me take a look, Jim?” I asked gently.

 

Jim’s brow knotted a little.  “At what?”

 

I wasn’t sure if Jim was being deliberately obtuse, but I kept my voice calm.  “At you,” I said quietly.  “You look pretty rough.”

 

Jim’s lip curled a little.  “I’m all right,” he said again.  “You should see the men who attacked me.  They got the worst of it.”

 

I’d seen Jim in action by then; and I knew he wasn’t boasting.  He was the best fighter I’d ever seen.  But I also knew an attempt at deflection when I saw it, and I wasn’t about to let this go.  “You’ve got a lot of blood on you, Jim.  For all I know, you could’ve been knifed or shot.”

 

He shook his head.  “I wasn’t.”

 

I didn’t let that stop me.  I’d thought of a way to persuade him by then.  “All right.  But if the fight was bad enough, you could have broken ribs – or worse.  You need to let me check you over, and maybe patch you up.  If you can’t move tomorrow, I’ll be out there on my own against that whole gang.  And after what just happened to you, I can’t say I like those odds.” 

 

I tried to sound worried, but in truth, Jim’s possible injuries worried me far more.  While going up against an armed gang alone was far from an ideal situation, I’d done more dangerous things alone many times during the war and as a Secret Service agent.  I’d always managed to either talk, sneak or fight my way out of them.  I was sure I could do the same tomorrow, if necessary.  I just needed something to help persuade Jim to let me look at his injuries.  And I’d learned enough about Jim by then, to know that he’d worry far more about my safety and the success of our investigation, than he would about his own well being.

 

James slowly drank what remained of his whiskey, down to the last drop.  I knew he probably needed it for the pain.  But I suspected that he was stalling too, to give himself time to think of a way to refuse my request.  Finally, he put down his glass and shot me a long, unreadable glance, from eyes that had gone steely gray.  I met his gaze steadily, without blinking. 

 

“All right,” he said at last.  He stood up slowly, without his usual grace, and spread his hands.  “Examine me, then – _Dr._ Gordon.”

 

James had evidently decided that my solicitude amused him.  Or perhaps it was just the novelty of anyone caring about his well-being that got past his defenses.  I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t much care.  Though his attitude was sarcastic, I was relieved he’d agreed to let me look him over at all.  “Thank you ever so much, James,” I said, figuring he’d drunk enough not to notice my sarcasm in return.  “Now.  Will you take off your shirt, please?”

 

Jim did as I asked.  But he moved with the same telltale slowness, and I saw him wince as he pulled his shirt off.  Once his torso was bare, I saw that he’d been badly beaten, just as I’d feared.  He had large, dark bruises spreading over his back, right shoulder and left bicep already, and what looked like bootmarks over his kidneys where he’d been kicked.  The knuckles on both of his hands were bruised too, and his left ones were bloodied.  Though I was relieved to find no knife or bullet wounds, I worried about the state of his internal organs.  It would take repeated, terrible blows to cause such deep bruising.

 

I went back to my lab for a bottle of carbolic and a pan of water.  When I came back, I gently cleaned the blood off of Jim’s face and neck.  I pulled out a clean handkerchief, poured some carbolic onto it, and pressed it to Jim’s left knuckles.  He drew in a breath, but didn’t say a word.  I wasn’t surprised.  I’d already had occasion to observe how stoic Jim was, how unwilling he was to ever admit that he was in pain.  He saw any such admission as a weakness. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it, all the same.

 

“How many were there, again?” I asked.  I hadn’t forgotten – how could I?  But I hoped to distract him a little from the pain while I worked.

 

“Eight.  Two of them are dead.”  Jim’s voice was flat, like he was giving me a report on the weather.  His eyes were distant, as if he were seeing something else.

 

“I see.”  Sometimes Jim was forced to kill; it was the nature of our work.  But there was something in his tone, in his blank gaze…  I wondered just what had gone on this time.  I wondered, too, if there had been witnesses to the killings, and if they’d take Jim’s side, or if we should expect a visit from the Sheriff soon.  Then again, I assumed Jim would’ve warned me by now, if such a visit were imminent.  So I pushed that thought away.

 

After making sure the abrasions on both his hands were liberally doused with carbolic, I wrapped his left hand in a bandage and began carefully palpating his chest.  I discovered to my relief that he didn’t have broken ribs.  One felt a little spongy though, and Jim hissed when I touched it, like it might be cracked.  But since he had no knife wounds or bullet holes, I decided that would do.  “Well, it’s nothing that won’t heal,” I said at last, straightening up again. 

 

Jim’s mouth curled unpleasantly.  “I could’ve told you that, Doc.” 

 

“But your back and shoulders are badly bruised.  So are your kidneys.  And I think one of your left ribs is cracked,” I went on, ignoring his sarcasm.  “I could wrap them –”

 

Jim just shook his head.  “I can do it.”

 

I doubted he would, though, the stubborn bastard.  My lips thinned.  “You’ll likely be pissing blood for a day or so,” I added.

 

Jim shrugged. 

 

Exasperated, I added, “You’re going to be pretty uncomfortable tonight, too.  I’ll bring you some laudanum if you’d like.  It would help you sleep.”  It would’ve helped if he’d let me rub some linament into his badly bruised torso and back, too. But I didn’t dare offer to do that.  If he was too impatient or plain unwilling to let me wrap his ribs, he’d hardly allow that, since it would involve even more intimate contact.

 

Jim shook his head.  “No thanks.”  He got up, left his bloody shirt where it lay on the couch, and picked up the whiskey bottle again.  “I’ll make do with this.”  He turned and headed off for his sleeping compartment, without further ado.  

 

You damn fool, I thought as I watched him go.  If there were ever a contest for pure, mule-headed stubbornness, James West would win it, hands down.  I was glad that he’d taken the whiskey, but it wasn’t nearly enough.  “At least take a hot bath!” I called after him.  “It’ll loosen your sore muscles.”

 

“Yes _, mother_ ,” Jim threw over his shoulder.

 

I snorted, exasperated, and shook my head.  Much though Jim liked to pretend that he was invincible, he was as mortal as the rest of us.  Given his stubborn refusal to touch laudanum despite his many painful injuries, I wondered if even he would be able to drag himself out of bed in the morning.  I shrugged.  Only time would tell.  Since there was nothing more I could do, I headed to my own compartment, resolving to keep my ears open in the unlikely event that Jim needed any further help that night.

 

I heard him draw water and take a long bath later, but he didn’t ask for help with anything.  I wasn’t surprised.

 

Later that night, though, I was awakened by odd sounds coming from Jim’s sleeping compartment.  Alarmed, I threw on a shirt and headed for it.  On the way there, I heard the sounds again.  They sounded like moans – of what sort, I wasn’t sure.  I paused, suddenly realizing that I might walk in on something James wouldn’t appreciate me witnessing.  Then, all at once, I heard him call out desperately, “No!  _Don’t_!”

 

Jim was obviously in the grip of a nightmare.  I moved faster.  When I got to Jim’s bed, he’d already pulled most of his covers off.  In the moonlight, I could see that his eyes were closed, and he was thrashing around.  Locks of his hair were damp with sweat, and plastered to his forehead.  I wondered if his bad dream had been caused by the attack he’d just suffered, and wished that I’d wakened sooner. 

 

“ _Damn it_!” Jim shouted, startling me.  “ _Don’t shoot_!”  He reached out blindly, frantically, as if he were trying to grab someone in his sleep.

 

I’d seen nightmares like that before.  I’d had more than a few myself, during the war.  I knew better than to try to grab Jim to wake him, though.  He was fearsomely strong, and I had no desire to get my neck broken.  I just paused beside him and called “Jim!  Jim, wake up!”

 

Jim didn’t seem to hear me.  He reached up suddenly, his hands grasping even more wildly at thin air.  Another moan ripped from him.  “ _Noooo_!”

 

I couldn’t bear to watch this.  I yelled at him, to snap him out of it.  “Jim!  It’s Artie!  You’re dreaming!  _Wake up_!”

 

Jim sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp.  His eyes flew open and he blinked, staring at me, his eyes wide, like he’d never seen me before.  Then he grabbed my shirt.  His hand twisted in it, his fist rubbing the fabric against my shoulder.  “ _Artie_?” he gasped. 

 

The desperate hope in his voice caught at my heart.  I wondered who he’d been dreaming of, and if he realized that his cheeks were wet.  I didn’t know if it was tears or sweat, but I suspected the former.  I knew better than to mention it, though. 

 

“Yes,” I said instead, very gently.  “It’s me.  It’s all right, James my boy.  You were just having a bad dream.”  I’d never called James ‘my boy’ before.  But in that moment, with his hair mussed and sweaty, trembling, his eyes wide with fear, he looked rather like a lost little boy.  I smiled at him, wanting to reassure, hoping he wouldn’t mind the small intimacy.

 

Jim didn’t even seem to notice it.  “Dreaming?” he echoed, sounding confused.  “But I saw –”  He stared up at me, then passed an unsteady hand over his face.  Somehow, the hand that’d gripped my shirt moved sideways, until it rested over my heart.  I expected Jim would let go of me then, but to my surprise, he didn’t.  Instead, he flattened his hand and slid it inside my shirt, pressing his palm against my chest for a moment.  He lowered his head, but his face was intent, his whole body taut, as if he were listening hard for something.  I had no idea what, since the night was very quiet, but I didn’t pull away.  I stood spellbound by his touch.  His hand felt tantalizingly warm on my night-chilled skin.  But it wouldn’t do for James to know he could make my heart thunder with a mere touch, so I just stood there, not moving, hardly daring to breathe.  Luckily for me, Jim didn’t seem to notice my agitation.  He was too busy listening hard.  I didn’t hear anything, but after a few minutes, Jim seemed to calm down.  His breath still came fast, but he wasn’t shaking so much, and he finally took his hand off my chest. 

 

Once Jim’s hand fell away, I felt obscurely bereft.  I wished vainly that I could take him in my arms, to comfort him and quiet his shaking.  Instead, I just put a hand on his shoulder very gently.  “You all right, Jim?”

 

He looked away and lowered his head.  I knew he was trying to hide his face.  He had to swallow hard before he could speak.  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. 

 

It was a lie, but I didn’t argue.  Jim set his jaw so tightly that a muscle jumped in his cheek.  Whatever he was holding in – fear, grief, rage – he was obviously struggling to control it, and to keep me from seeing it. 

 

But he didn’t spurn my touch, or try to pull away.  Instead, he slowly laid one shaking hand over mine, trapping my fingers against his shoulder. 

 

Shocked, I stood very still.  It was the first time Jim had ever reached out to me like that.  The only time he’d ever let me see even a hint of vulnerability beneath his cool, confident facade.  Jim still didn’t look at me, or at our joined hands.  I suspected he couldn’t.  To Jim, even such an innocent touch would no doubt seem perilously close to weakness.  He just stared down into his blankets, his mouth still twisted with what I thought was grief.  Still, he didn’t let go of my hand. 

 

Touched that he’d let his feelings show in even so small a gesture, I left my hand where it was.  Though my fingers felt like they were almost burning from the heat of his skin, if holding onto my hand for a time helped Jim calm himself, I was willing to stand there all night.

 

 “What were you dreaming about?”  I asked quietly.  I wanted to distract him from realizing what he was doing, at least for a few minutes.  His emotions had been so extreme, I felt sure he’d been dreaming of someone real, someone he’d lost perhaps.  And I hoped to get some glimpse into his past, into the time before we met.  A times James never spoke of.

  

*******************************************************************************

 

“What were you dreaming about?” Artie asked softly.

 

I didn’t answer.  I just held Artie’s hand tightly against my shoulder and looked down, away from his sharp eyes.  How the hell could I answer that?  How could I tell him that those thugs in town had taunted me about him, saying they’d killed him?  How could I tell him that they’d shown me a bloody shirt, and said they’d torn it off him before they’d killed him and left his body in the dust beside the train, for the buzzards to devour?  How could I admit that I’d shot two of them, not just because they’d shot at me first, but for that?  Because I’d half believed them.  Because I’d feared that they’d snuffed out Artie’s life like some cheap tallow candle, and left him in the dirt.

 

Because –

 

I couldn’t tell Artie the truth.  I didn’t want to believe it myself.  I didn’t want to care so much.  I’d tried to keep Artemus at arm’s length, to see him as a partner but no more.

 

It hadn’t worked.  Somehow, Gordon the partner had become my friend Artie.  With his easy smile and warm, outgoing nature, his brilliance, ready laugh and loyalty, Artemus Gordon had already snuck past all my defenses.  He was just – so much more than I’d expected.  More than just a competent agent, more than even a good partner.  He was the best partner I’d ever had, and he’d become the best friend, too.  Hell, I’d ridden hell bent for leather all the way back to the train earlier, covered in bruises and hurting all over, just to find out if those men had really killed him.  I’d’ve ridden all day if I had to.  I’d been terrified, desperate to prove to myself that Artie was still alive. 

 

But what had happened when I found him scared me even more.  As soon as I’d seen Artie sitting on the couch in the Wanderer’s parlor car, safe and snug with a book in his hands, I’d felt such intense relief, such happiness that I’d had this crazy impulse to hug him.  It was so strong, I’d actually started towards him before I caught myself.  I’d jerked to a stop a few feet away from him, but it’d been hard to ignore that impulse.  My hands had twitched with the need to reach out and touch him, to feel his warm skin.  Something inside me demanded that I make absolutely sure that Artie was as safe and whole as my eyes were telling me he was.  The feelings were so strong they unnerved me.  It was all I could do to cover them, and to keep Artie from seeing how shaken up I’d been about him.  It was all I could do to walk away from him, to put some distance between us.  I’d told myself I was just tired and hurting, but while we talked things over, I kept my distance from Artie all the same.

 

I hadn’t been afraid like that, not for years.  Not since the war.  I still wasn’t afraid for myself.  But Artemus Gordon had taught me how to fear again, and I hated it.

 

Then Artie had made things worse by insisting on looking me over, damn him, even though I’d told him I was okay.  When he’d put his hands on me, his big, strong, deft hands, that crazy impulse I’d felt earlier had come back, even stronger than before.  I’d wanted to touch Artie, to lay my hands on his chest so I could feel his heart beating, to prove to myself beyond any doubt that he was okay.  I’d watched Artie while he checked me over.  His touch was so gentle, and his concern for me so obvious that I got ambushed again by unwanted feelings. 

 

I knew I wouldn’t’ve sat still, wouldn’t’ve tolerated being – well, coddled like that, fussed over like that, for anyone but Artie.  But all Artie had to do was look at me, and I was taking off my shirt before I knew it, so he could look me over. 

 

Artemus…  I’d never known anyone like him.  He was brave, kind and funny – and probably the smartest man I’d ever known.  Artie read voraciously, and I’d never found a subject yet that he couldn’t converse intelligently about.  He challenged me, made my thinking sharper, stood up to me when I was too hotheaded, made me laugh all the time.  He made the cleverest picklocks, bombs and incendiaries I’d ever seen; and the derringer he’d made for me to wear up my sleeve had saved my life more than once already.  And whenever I got hurt, he looked after me better than anyone ever had since I’d lost my mother.  Artie was good to me in so many ways, it was almost dizzying.  While he checked me over, I thought for the hundredth time what an extraordinary man he was, and how lucky I was that he was my partner.  Knowing that I could’ve lost him today made me feel cold inside all over again. 

 

Artie checked me over as carefully as an Army doctor would’ve.  Closer than some.  His examination had been so skillful that I wondered if he’d assisted a surgeon during the war.  He’d picked up some doctoring from somewhere, that was certain.  He’d bandaged my hands as well as any Army doc could have, too.  But having his sharp gaze and his hands on me had made me feel a bit strange somehow.  All churned up inside.  Warmed, even privileged, but confused and almost angry too.

 

Artie made me feel too much -- and I didn’t like it.  The fear he’d made me feel for him was bad enough, but the warmth that stole over me whenever he touched me was almost worse.  It was something I’d seldom felt before; and never for a man.  I didn’t understand it.

 

He fusses too much, I’d thought, confused.  I’m no weakling!

 

But Artie had never said that I was.  He’d just been trying to help me.

 

So why did I feel like that?  Angry, helpless – strange?  Almost frustrated, despite my intense relief that he was alive.

 

I’d had to force myself not to either hug him, or bolt from the parlor car.  A wave of resentment swept over me at that.  I didn’t want to feel those things – so it must be Artie’s fault that I did.  I got so angry at him for making me nearly lose control that I’d snapped at him.  I’d even let it slip that I was thinking of going back out after the gang we were after.  That really set Artie off, but I couldn’t help myself.  A driving urgency was moving under my skin, the same urgency that’d sent me riding hell bent back to the train to make sure Artie was okay.  Even though I knew by then that he was, it hadn’t gone away.  By then, it was driving me to go after the men who’d threatened him.  It was so strong it felt almost like pain, like a big burr must feel under a horse’s saddle.  I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, but I kept seeing that bloody shirt in my mind, and all I could think was, I had to get those men before they got my partner.  Before they could hurt Artie the way they’d threatened to.  Before they killed him… 

 

Finally, Artie stalked over to me and snarled, “You’re staying here tonight, even if I have to tie you to a goddamn _chair_!”

 

I glared up at him.  Artie seldom got really angry, but he was furious then.  He’d trapped me between his outstretched arms, and one of his hands had even curled into a fist.  I’d pushed him to the brink of a fight – when all I really wanted was to touch him, to prove to myself that he really was okay.  It was stupid, and I knew it.  So was my plan to ride off again; I knew that, too.  I was in no shape to do it, after the beating I’d taken.  But that feeling…  The only way I could subdue it was by telling myself that if I went, Artie would insist on going with me.  And I’d probably just get him killed for real, if I tried. 

 

So I let Artie talk me out of it. 

 

But I still didn’t understand what was going on.  What the hell had come over me, after I saw that bloody shirt.  Hell, I’d seen men bleed before, I’d seen them die in scores, in every awful way you could imagine.  But one hint that Artemus Gordon might be dead, and I reacted like a madman.

 

I felt more for Artemus Gordon than I should.  More than I’d felt for anyone since I’d lost Captain Phillips and most of my company at Shiloh.  I’d sworn to myself that day, after I’d held what was left of his shattered body and seen the corpses of so many of my friends, that I’d never let myself feel that much for anyone again.  It hurt too much.  It made me too vulnerable.

 

I’d kept that vow – until I met Artemus.  But we’d only been partners for about six months, yet here I was, wanting to hug him.  Scared of losing him already.

 

Christ.  How had Artie done this to me? 

 

That damn dream hadn’t helped.   

 

After Artie had made me swear not to go after the gang we were chasing without him, and then finished fussing over my injuries, I’d fled the parlor car as soon as I could.  Grabbed the whiskey and gone back to my sleeping compartment, where I’d thrown myself down on my bed gratefully.  I’d taken a hot bath, then drank until I felt pleasantly fogged with whiskey, and tired enough to drift off to sleep.  But there proved to be no refuge for me there, either. 

 

I’d had a nightmare.  I’d dreamed that those thugs in town had shot Artie down right in front of me.  Four of them had held me down, while two more of them dragged Artie into the street.  I fought, kicked, yelled – even screamed – but they just laughed.  And then a seventh one shot Artie.  In my dream, I’d lost all self control.  Hell, I’d _begged_ him not to shoot.  But he’d shot Artemus anyway, and I’d woke up screaming. 

 

I was so confused.  One minute, I’d been watching Artie fall, screaming in rage and pain as blood blossomed on his shirt and he died.  The next, I heard Artie talking to me.  Softly at first, then louder, until he was yelling at me.  It sounded like his voice, but how could that be when he was dead? 

 

Then somehow, my eyes opened and I found myself in bed, with Artie standing next to me.  I couldn’t tell what was real.  Heart hammering, gasping, my mouth still open on a scream, I’d grabbed at him like a child.  I’d resisted the impulse to touch earlier, but after that nightmare, I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out for him.  Half frantic to prove that he was really alive, I’d laid my hand on his chest.  Luckily for me, despite his look of surprise, Artie hadn’t moved.  He’d stood there quietly, patient as always, and let me touch him without protest.  I hadn’t let go until I felt his heart beating steady and strong under my palm.

 

Well – I didn’t really let him go, even then.  A few minutes later, a wave of embarrassment swept over me.  I realized that in my confused state, somehow, I’d laid my hand over Artie’s where his lay on my shoulder.  And I was still hanging onto him!  All the time I’d been trying to get my breath back, figure out what was real and solid, Artie had been standing there, held in place by the hand I’d trapped on my shoulder. 

 

I was mortified.  I pulled away like touching him had burned me.  Artie was my partner, my very _male_ partner; not some calico girl I’d hired for a night.  Christ!  What was I thinking, pawing at his bare chest like that?  Holding onto his hand?  Had I suddenly become some silly weakling?  What must he _think_ of me? 

 

“Sorry, Artie,” I mumbled.  I snatched my hand away, avoiding his eyes.  What had come over me?  I’d lost control, I’d laid hands on Artie like he was a —

 

No!  It wasn’t like that, I insisted stubbornly.

 

Then what _is_ it like? a little voice whispered, deep inside.

 

I didn’t have the words for it.  No man had ever gotten me to do things like this before.  At least, not since the war… 

 

Damnation!  I must be losing my mind, I thought, disgusted with myself.  The trick those murderers had played on me earlier with that bloody shirt, plus that goddamn dream – they’d stripped away my self control.  I’d behaved like an idiot.  It had to stop.  I had to lie.  Tell Artie something, anything, just to make him go away.  I had to get myself back under control.

 

 

**********************************************************************************

 

Jim was silent for so long, I began to think that he wouldn’t answer.  Finally, he said gruffly, “I was dreaming about the war.” 

 

“Ah.  Where?” I asked. 

 

Jim just shook his head.  Though the dream had obviously scared the living daylights out of him, he clearly wasn’t going to tell me anything more about it.  With a bit of a pang, I wondered who James had been trying so hard to save in that dream.  I was certain he’d been crying.  Who had Jim cared for that much?  Was it someone who’d died in the war?  No use asking – Jim would never tell me.  Besides, I could’ve been mistaken.  Maybe the tears I thought I’d seen on his face were just sweat, or a trick of the moonlight.  Just leaving my hand on his shoulder for so long was probably pushing my luck, anyway.  Best not to try for more.

 

Jim seemed to feel the same way.  He let go of me then, and laid back down on his bed.  Turning his back, he said, “Good night, Artie.”

 

Though Jim’s withdrawal was predictable, it still cut me.  So.  That was how things were to stay between us, I thought.  No matter what I did for him, Jim would keep his walls up, and I would always be shut out.  It was silly, but in that instant, I felt a wave of deep disappointment that was almost grief.  There was no doubt that we functioned very well as partners.  But Jim trusted me only so far.  He would never truly let me in, or lower his guard around me.  The look on his face, the way he’d touched me just now – none of it meant anything.  It was just night terrors. 

 

I hadn’t felt so lonely in years.

 

I turned to go.  Trying hard not to let the longing and regret I felt color my voice, I sighed, “Good night, Jim.”  

 

I made it to his door before I heard him stir.  “Artemus,” Jim said softly.

 

Jim seldom used my full name, and I wasn’t sure what it meant.  But the soft tone he’d used pulled at me.  In the silence, I heard a rustle of bedcovers, like Jim had turned over again, and I could feel his gaze on the back of my neck.  I paused in his doorway, but didn’t turn around.  The moonlight had showed me Jim’s distress clearly, after all.  It would be equally revealing on my face.  “Yes?”

 

“Thanks,” Jim said quietly.  “Sorry I woke you.”

 

Warmth had crept into Jim’s voice, whether he knew it or not.  I thought of how he’d gripped my hand so tightly just moments ago, and my heart lifted.  “That’s quite all right, James my boy,” I smiled.  “Go back to sleep now.”

 

And may you have better dreams, I wished silently.

 

*********************************************************************************

  

After that, I stopped asking West questions about himself.  If he wouldn’t reveal anything of his past even while shaken from a nightmare, it was obvious that he wouldn’t at any other time, either.

 

But my curiosity about James only intensified.  Like the ancient Roman God Janus, West seemed to have two faces:  a cool, charming façade meant to disarm or seduce if there was an attractive woman present; or a stoic, blank countenance he assumed in hostile situations, that gave nothing away.  I still found it hard to guess at what lay behind his masks. 

 

I wondered if he was simply a man with little inside of him, other than bravery and a sense of duty.  That theory didn’t appeal much to me.  I was gregarious by nature; and since James and I were bound to spend a lot of time together as partners, I hoped that he’d turn out to be something more than just a sort of career soldier, and that something more than a strictly professional relationship would develop between us.  For a time, though, there seemed little to base a friendship upon.  West occasionally teased me, so I learned that he had a sense of humor.  But that was as far beyond our work as he seemed to be willing to go.  I wondered if I’d ever be anything more than just a fellow agent, to James West.

 

Still, I decided to give it time and see what happened.  I’d now seen that despite his formidable will, James West was, in fact, as human as the next man.  And he seemed to be letting his formidable guard down a bit lately.  He’d let me check him over when he was hurt after all, and I’d seen his self control break during his nightmare.  He’d even let me comfort him a little afterwards.  That gave me hope.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.

 

After some months passed, while I observed well-nigh everything West did, I began to see past the masks he wore.  I found that Jim was sharply intelligent, educated, with good manners and an honest character.  He was a bit of a hedonist, who loved finely tailored clothes that showed off his physique.  But he was neither vain nor weak.  I’d seen at once that he was dedicated, tenacious and very self confident, almost to the point of arrogance.  He liked giving orders, as well.  Though I was his senior in both age and experience, James never hesitated to take the lead in our investigations.  Since he was very competent, and my ego didn’t demand that I be in charge, I didn’t protest.  Besides, we usually took separate paths in our investigations, each according to our strengths.  Jim would go in openly and ask questions, and usually stir up trouble.  I would operate in disguise, often entering towns alone a day or so before Jim did, so that no one could draw a connection between us, and drawing upon my acting abilities to ferret out information in a more subtle way.  And since James seemed to appreciate my skills, and didn’t interfere with my way of handling an investigation, I allowed him the illusion of being the agent in charge.

 

West kept himself in superb physical condition, and was truly awesome at hand-to-hand combat.  On many occasions, I saw him take down several armed assailants with only his fists and feet.  But I never saw him strike a man without cause, or shoot one if he didn’t have to.  With women, West could be kind enough, even charming, but never serious.  I never saw him show any interest in settling down with one. 

 

All in all, I realized that West was more complex than I’d thought at first, and far from being a typical career military man.  He interested me greatly, and though I still wasn’t sure if he would ever see us as good friends, I thought of him that way.  I found early on that I was well satisfied with him as a partner.

 

Once I became Jim’s partner, life was never boring.  For a man like me, who craved travel and excitement, working for the Secret Service was the perfect sort of employment.  I was very well paid, I traveled the country in a luxurious setting, I frequently got to utilize my acting skills and my talent for invention on our missions; and James was always at my side.  He never failed to guard my back, or render assistance if I needed it.  I found Jim to be eminently trustworthy on that score. 

 

The only thing that truly troubled me about Jim’s character, once I observed more about him, was his stubbornness and his reckless kind of bravery.  James never hesitated to rush in where angels fear to tread.  Once he decided to stick his neck into a hornet’s nest during our investigations, I seldom had any luck talking him out of it.  As a result, I sometimes had to rescue Jim from various and sundry scoundrels, in the course of our work.  But as he unfailingly did the same for me when the need arose, I tried not to complain overmuch about his habit of risking his neck at the drop of a hat.

 

I eventually concluded that James West had none of the faults I’d feared to find in him, and many admirable qualities.  Jim was more than just a soldier, or an agent in the service of his country.  He was a good man and an interesting one, and a brave, loyal and remarkably resourceful partner.  Though he’d never be a talkative man, over time, Jim eventually opened up and spoke to me more than he had when we first met.  And he didn’t seem to mind listening to me talk, even at length.  As time passed, I began to hope that Jim felt the same friendship for me that I did for him. 

 

And I continued observing Jim.  Studying him was so engrossing that even after I’d assured myself that he was neither stupid nor sadistic, I carried on with it.  I’d developed an even deeper desire:  to divine Jim’s inner life, his thoughts and feelings. 

 

My extended study finally led me to some interesting conclusions about Jim.  He had an air of intensity about him that hinted at deep feelings, but he rarely let them show.  The only time that I ever saw them surface was under extreme circumstances, when Jim was hurt, exhausted or drugged.  Or if my life or the life of some innocent was threatened, Jim would sometimes become angry or even vengeful.  Otherwise he controlled himself ruthlessly, burying his heart under either a surface sort of charm, or a stoic blankness I suspected it had taken him years to perfect.  I realized, Jim didn’t just hold himself back from me -- he did so from everyone.

 

But I hadn’t forgotten the night of Jim’s nightmare, and the way he’d reached out to me after it.  I kept hoping something else would happen to give me a hint of what Jim was feeling, or that he’d begun to see me as more than just a fellow agent.  That hint came in a way that I least expected it…

 

 

*******************************************************************

  

I blamed myself afterward, for what happened.  I underestimated Tyler Braggs.  Though I think I can be forgiven for that.  He wasn’t much to look at, after all.  A short, skinny little undertaker, scrawny and sour-faced, and dressed all in dour black.  One of those men who’d be old before his time.  The only thing he’d ever done of note was get himself involved with Tom Heron – and that was a huge mistake. 

 

“Where _is_ he?” I barked.  We were alone in Bragg’s tiny, miserable little cubbyhole of an office, with only coffins on display.  It set a grim tone for the conversation we were having.  If I didn’t find Jim soon…

 

Braggs jumped, his eyes rolling nervously.  “I dunno, mister!”

 

I narrowed my eyes, made them hard, cold and glittering with menace.  “I think you do.”

 

Braggs was easy to cow.  I just glared at him and advanced, pushing him back before me with threats lurking in my eyes, as well as my words.  Though I hadn’t even touched him or pulled my gun, he retreated instantly, almost cringing in fear.  As well he should, I thought. 

 

“I’ll say it once again:  where’s my partner?  What’ve they done with him?” I growled.  I’d heard that Braggs never carried a gun, that he didn’t even know how to shoot.  But I never trusted my life to hearsay.  I’d already checked him over anyway, with practiced eyes.  I’d seen no sign of a weapon, unless he was carrying one in an ankle holster; and so far, he’d made no move to bend over.  Still, I watched him like a hawk.

 

I crowded Braggs, moving closer, using my superior height and weight to press the point, and flicking my coat back a little to reveal the gun at my hip. 

 

Braggs scuttled back toward the wall, his eyes wide, his hands waving helplessly.  “I told you, I don’t know!”

 

I surged forward again, close enough to touch him now.  “You’re a liar.  You’re in this up to your neck!”

 

Braggs’s eyes widened, and he swallowed nervously.  His gaze darted furtively to the empty coffins that lay up against the wall, and I realized something else. 

 

“You’ve been getting rid of bodies for Heron, haven’t you?  If anyone catches on to his counterfeiting, he and his men shoot them.  Then you wheel their bodies away in your cart at night, along with the counterfeit money, with no one the wiser!  After all, who’d suspect an undertaker when you’re supposed to transport coffins?”  I felt a flicker of admiration at the cleverness of their scheme.  “Heron’s probably been burying the bodies on his ranch, hasn’t he?”

 

Braggs didn’t say a word.  But he swallowed hard, and that plus the fear in his eyes betrayed him, just as surely as if he’d confessed. 

 

I tried not to think of Jim in one of those dusty, unmarked graves.  But I reached out and grabbed Braggs by the throat, with more force than was strictly necessary for mere intimidation.  “I’ll ask you once more:  _Where is James West_?” I hissed.

 

 “Okay, okay!” he finally squeaked.  “I’ll talk!  _I’ll tell you_!  Just let me go!”

 

I felt a surge of relief, but kept my face hard and cold as I gave him a little shove into the wall.  He was shaking.

 

But when Braggs suddenly reached inside his coat I tensed, reaching for my gun.  “Hold it!”

 

He shook his head, sweating.  “No, you don’t understand!  I ain’t got a gun, I swear!  I got the address right here.  Where Heron’s keepin’ West, I mean.  It’s on a piece of paper in my pocket!  ”

 

I relaxed a little, though I kept my gun out, ready to shoot if necessary.  “Slowly then,” I told him.

 

Braggs nodded, and obediently reached slowly into his pocket.  Just then, there was a commotion outside.  Voices cried out in alarm.  I heard thuds and the sound of wood breaking, and several shots.  A woman shrieked, and the high, scared sound cut through the air like a knife.  I turned my head for a second, to make sure we weren’t about to be interrupted.

 

That was a mistake.  In the instant that my attention was diverted, Braggs sprang into action.  I saw his hand dip, diving into his coat below his pocket.  I spun around again fast.

 

Just not quite fast enough.  Even as I reached for the trigger, Braggs jumped at me with a wordless kind of shriek.  Something glittered in his right hand.  I leapt back, or tried to, but he was too quick.  He caught my outstretched arm and yanked at me, barreling into my gunhand and knocking my revolver out of it.  When we collided, his right hand fell in a vicious arc.  Something tore into my left side.  We went down behind Bragg’s desk, tangled together, and Braggs slammed his hand down hard when we hit the floor.  It was wrapped around the hilt of the knife he’d just buried in my side, and it went in deeper.  I set my teeth against a groan.  Damn it!  The little weasel was armed after all – just not with a gun. 

 

Just then, someone burst through Bragg’s door.  I could just see the edge of a man’s boot through the gap underneath Bragg’s desk.  Fear cut through me.  If Heron was here –

 

“Artie!”

 

“Jim!”  I closed my eyes in sheer relief at the sound of his voice.  I should’ve known, I thought wryly.  Those noises I’d heard must’ve been my partner, breaking out of wherever Heron had locked him up.  Though I hated for Jim to find that I’d let such a poor specimen as Braggs get the best of me, I still don’t think I’d ever been quite so relieved to hear the sound of his voice.  I couldn’t see Jim, but I relaxed, knowing what was about to happen.  When Braggs let out a squeal of terror, I knew Jim had come around the desk and seen us. 

 

Jim didn’t waste time.  I grinned as Braggs was pulled off of me. 

 

“Take your hands off—”  Braggs tried to protest, but Jim just dragged him around to the front of the desk again.  For a moment, I couldn’t see them, but I heard Jim take two quick, light, almost dancing steps forward.  Then I heard a sharp crack, the unmistakable sound of a fist impacting a jaw with great force.  Braggs came flying through the air backwards, slammed into the back wall of his office and sagged to the floor, unconscious from the blow Jim had just dealt him.

 

My grin grew wider.  But when I sat up I had to stifle a groan, and it disappeared.  I made sure that my coat hung forward, though, covering the knife in my side.  It was buried in me to the hilt, which luckily for me, was short and could be readily concealed.  If I got really lucky, I’d be able to hide the injury from Jim until we could get back to the train.  Otherwise, I was afraid Jim might insist on trying to get me to a doctor.  We didn’t have time for that.  Jim could look at it later, I told myself.  If we could just make it back to the train…

 

Jim knelt down beside me, a look of amusement on his face.  “Having a bit of trouble?”  He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes sparkled as he teased me.  I stifled a sharp reply.  Jim’s hair was mussed, his shirt was dark with sweat, and his face was bloody in a couple of places.  Heron or his boys had obviously had a bit of fun with him, while they had him prisoner.  Anger cut through me, but I hid it.  Jim hated it when I fussed over him, and on the whole, he seemed none the worse for whatever he’d been through.  On the contrary, he seemed energized.  His eyes were lit up, as they always were after a battle.  Jim loved nothing better than a rip-roaring brawl.

 

I shook my head, trying to hold my torso still as I did.  But pain throbbed through me anyway.  “Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle,” I lied airily, hoping that I could pull my deception off.  “But we better get out of here, Jim.”

 

Jim squeezed my shoulder.  “Amen to that.” 

 

I looked at his hip, and was reassured to see that Jim still had his gun.  I wasn’t sure I could pull mine at the moment, and we might need his to make it out of town.  Jim had gotten away, but that just meant that Heron and his men would probably be in hot pursuit.

 

Jim curled his hand around my shoulder and rose, pulling me up with him.  The move jarred my injured side, and pain washed through me, hot and dizzying.  I bit my lip, holding back a moan, and tried to stand straight anyway.

 

“Artie?  What –”  Jim looked down at my side and paled, despite his tan. 

 

I glanced down.  My coat had swung open when he pulled me up, and the bloodstain was showing.  Damn it!  “It’s nothing,” I said quickly, but Jim wasn’t listening. 

 

He pulled my coat back, saw the knife and swore.  “Jesus, Artie!”

 

I shook my head, desperate to make him understand.  “We’re a little pressed for time.  It’ll have to wait till we get back to the train.”

 

Jim shook his head stubbornly.  “The _hell_ it will!” 

 

I grabbed his arm, feeling blood already seeping from the wound, warm as it trickled down my torso.  “I can’t pull it out.  Not yet.  And we can’t go to a doctor.  There’s no time!  We have to go!”

 

Jim’s lips thinned.  “Then I’ll –”

 

“Jim!  Look, why don’t you go.  Get back to the train, and telegraph --” 

 

Jim grabbed my arm.  “I’m not leaving you here!” he growled.  “And you’re not leaving like that!”

 

Suddenly, we heard a clatter approaching.  The sound of men in boots running, coming closer.  I shared a desperate glance with Jim.  We both knew they were Heron’s henchmen, searching for us.  Jim turned away and dragged Bragg’s unconscious form behind his desk, where it couldn’t be seen. 

 

“Good idea,” I told him, wishing I’d thought of that myself.  I should have.  Pain was already clouding my thinking, just when I really needed a clear head.  I had to think of something, some way to get us out of this.  I put a hand to my side, where blood had already soaked my silk vest below the wound.  Damn it.  I searched my mind, but the pain was too great, and my weakness was growing.  I couldn’t think of anything to do to save us.

 

Before I could blink, it seemed, Jim was standing beside me again.  “Get into a coffin, Artie.”

 

“What?”  I stared at him, wondering for a second if he’d lost his mind.  I felt increasingly weak and light-headed, but I was far from dead yet.

 

Jim grabbed my arm and pulled me gently forward, pointing down at the nearest coffin.  “Lie down in there,” he said urgently.  “I’ll pull the lid on over you.  If anyone pulls it off, you just lie there and play dead.”

 

I smiled, suddenly grasping his plan.  In the state I was in, bloodied and pale, with a knife sticking out of my vest, if I closed my eyes I could certainly pass for a corpse.  Jim had always been good at making do with whatever was at hand.  There was another freshly carved coffin not far from him, a perfect hiding place for Jim as well.  “James my boy, you’re a genius!”

 

Jim grinned quickly at me, then helped me down into the coffin.  I tried my best not to fall into it.  Jim pulled the lid down over me, but not before saying, “I’ll get you fixed up as soon as they’ve gone, Artie.  I promise.  Just hold on, all right?”

 

“Sure thing.”  It wasn’t like I had much of a choice, after all.  The coffin’s lid slid over me, blotting out the light, leaving only a tiny crack to see through.  I smiled into the darkness though, for despite his haste, Jim had made sure there was enough of a gap between the coffin and its lid that I could still breathe.  I waited, listening breathlessly as he climbed into his own coffin.  It sounded like Jim had barely gotten the lid put back on his hiding place, when booted feet charged through Bragg’s door.

 

I held my breath, and knew Jim was doing the same.  The boots advanced a few steps into the room, and stopped as their owner looked around.  I felt sweat trickle down my spine.  The air in the coffin was hot and stuffy, and the footsteps sounded ominously loud.  I counted seconds, and tried to stay conscious.  Finally, the footsteps went away again, and I heard a man’s voice say, “They’re not in there.  Braggs is gone too.”

 

Another voice said gruffly, “Don’t just stand there!  Come on!”

 

Things got quiet again, but I didn’t entirely trust it.  Wait, Jim, I thought.  To his credit, he did.  It was several more minutes, and not until after things had gotten very quiet again, before Jim finally came out and pulled my coffin’s lid off.  I blinked a little, at the sudden return of bright light.

 

“Can you stand?”  Jim knelt next to me, a worried look in his eyes. 

 

“Sure.”  I took his hand and let him help me up, though.  I wasn’t too proud for that.  “There, you see?  I’m --” _fine_ , I tried to say.  But I’d barely gained my feet when an odd feeling came over me.  I swayed, then a black curtain swept across my vision. 

 

“Artie!”  I heard Jim call out, his voice urgent.  I tried to answer, but couldn’t.  I felt myself start to fall, then the lights went out.

 

When I woke up, I was in a doctor’s office.  I knew it before I even opened my eyes.  It was obvious from the distinctive smells:  blood, bandages and carbolic.  Besides, once I tried to move, I found I was also lying on my back on a table.

 

“I’ve done all I can.  Now you have to get him out of here!” a gruff, unfamiliar voice insisted.  The note of fear I heard in it, made me try to force my eyes open.  “I’ve got a wagon.  You can take it if you need to, but please – just go!”

 

“Thanks for your concern, doc.”  However sarcastic his words, I was relieved to hear Jim’s voice.  Compared to the doctor, he sounded calm, but utterly implacable.  Curious to see if he had his gun pointed at my hapless physician, I made an effort and blinked my eyes open.  Once my vision cleared, I saw that although Jim hadn’t pulled his gun, he was standing with a hand resting lightly on it, staring hard at the only other man in the room, who had to be the doctor.  The subtle tension in Jim’s stance told me that he was about to pull it, or even use it, if my unlucky physician kept resisting.  The doctor, a solid, grey-haired man who looked to be middle-aged, had evidently read Jim’s mood accurately too.  He was sweating.

 

“Give me some laudanum first, and tell me what to do for him.  I’ll pay you, then we’ll go,” Jim said tersely.

 

Tilting my head a little, I looked down, surveying myself hazily.  I was shirtless, and my wound had been stitched and neatly bandaged.  I hoped to God the doctor had used clean sutures and needles.  Then again, Jim had been watching, so he must’ve, I thought wryly. 

 

The doctor hurriedly began rattling off instructions for my care.  “Watch him closely for two weeks.  Change his bandages often.  And if you see any signs of infection…”

 

I ignored his spiel.  I knew what to do for my wound, probably as well as he did.  I was more concerned with trying to rouse myself enough to sit up.  My pain was gone, and in its place was a peculiar light, floating sensation I recognized instantly.  Hmm.  The doctor must’ve done more than just treat my stab wound and bandage me while I was unconscious, I thought.  He must’ve already dosed me with laudanum, too. 

 

I forced myself to think.  Fuzzy though I was, it hadn’t escaped my notice that Jim hadn’t bothered to argue with the doctor about the need for our departure.  Which meant that we must still be in Weaverville, and Heron’s men must still be hunting for us; and Jim felt they’d find us if we stayed here.  It wasn’t hard to figure out why.  Bragg must’ve regained consciousness, and told them he’d stabbed me.  I guessed Weaverville, like most Western towns, only had one doctor.  So Heron’s goons would come looking for me here soon.  For all I knew, they might be on their way here right now.

 

Despite the laudanum, a sense of urgency pulsed through me, like a church bell pealing a loud warning.  _Jim_ , I tried to say.  But what came out was more like “Sh’im.”  My tongue felt thick and dry as cotton. 

 

“Artie.”  Jim’s voice was still low, but I could hear the relief in it all the same.  “You awake?”

 

It wasn’t the silly question it seemed.  What he really meant was, are you lucid?  I swallowed hard and tried again.  “Yeah.”  Though I still sounded hoarse, the words were clearer that time, which pleased me.  “Jim… you’ve gotta… get … out of here,” I rasped slowly. 

 

“We’re going.  Soon,” he said.  He sounded a little distracted, like his full concentration wasn’t really on what I was saying.  I took advantage of that to check on my own condition.  I wiggled my fingers experimentally, then moved my arms.  They moved sluggishly at first, but then normally.  I heaved a sigh of relief.  At least I wasn’t entirely helpless.  That was important, because Jim was going to have to leave me here.

 

But Jim, as usual, had other ideas.  Just as I realized Jim had said that _we_ were going soon, I heard him ask the doctor, “Where’s your wagon?”

 

 _We,_ and a wagon -- the damn fool!  Jim was being stubborn, as usual.  I wondered dimly how it could be that Jim didn’t realize what he should be doing; namely, leaving me behind while he went to report.  It wasn’t like him not to see the larger picture.  I raised a trembling hand to grab his sleeve.  “Now!”  I panted, sweat popping out on my brow with the effort.  “Leave me.  Get back – to the train.  Telegraph … Washington.  Heron —”

 

That got Jim’s attention, all right.  He turned away from the doctor, his light blue eyes as fierce as I’d ever seen them.  They burned into mine as Jim bent over me.  “I’ll deal with him later.  I’m not leaving without you, Artemus!  That’s final.”

 

 _Artemus_.  Jim only called me that when he was feeling fond, which was almost never – or when he thought I was being difficult, which was fairly often.  I closed my eyes, knowing Jim would probably think I was just gathering my strength to argue the point.  The truth was, I was stunned.

 

I’d completely misjudged Jim.  I’d always thought that for him, duty and the Secret Service came before everything.  Including me.  I’d always believed that Jim would leave me behind if he had to, to complete a mission.  Not that Jim would ever abandon me if there were any other choice; but if things were as dire as our current situation certainly was, I’d expected him to sacrifice me in favor of catching whichever villain we were pursuing.  That’s what Jim was _supposed_ to do.  We both were.  For all that we no longer wore uniforms, we were still soldiers in a cause.  As far as the Secret Service was concerned, our missions were more important than our lives.  We were expendable, and we knew it.  Yet here Jim was, uninjured and armed himself and perfectly capable of leaving, yet risking everything for me instead – and for the second time today.

 

Despite the situation, and my irritation at Jim’s stubbornness, a slow, warm kind of wonder spread through me.  I’d been waiting for Jim’s masks to drop, hoping against hope for a sign that I was more than just a fellow agent to him.  Now I had one.  A huge sign I couldn’t mistake, that went far beyond the level of caring I’d hoped for.  Now I knew I was far more than just his fellow agent.  I’d become his partner, in the deepest, truest sense of the word.  Nothing but deep friendship would make a hard, dedicated man like Jim break the rules like this. 

 

And friendship, in the end, is just another word for love. 

 

Jim loved me.  He did.  Maybe not the way I wanted him to, or in the same way I loved him, but I’d never really expected that.  Still, his feelings for me were deep and true.  Even if I hadn’t been dosed with laudanum, I think I could’ve floated on that alone.  I held onto the realization for a moment, savored it, and it was sweet.

 

Then I opened my eyes, caught Jim’s sleeve and stared hard at him.  “Jim.  Either you leave me here… or I’ll report you.”

 

Jim shot me a sharp glance, but then he just smiled.  “Feel free, Artie.  Once we get back to the train, you can write all the reports you like.  Send ‘em to Grant himself.”

 

There was that ‘we’ again.  “Damn it, Jim –!”  I moved both hands behind me and braced myself, trying to sit up. But I moved too fast.  My arms shook so badly that I fell back onto the table again, and my head swam alarmingly.  For a few seconds, the room seemed to be revolving in slow circles around me.  I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the disorientation.

 

Jim took shameless advantage of my temporary weakness.  In a second, he was beside me.  Easing a hip onto the examining table, he slipped an arm behind my head and lifted me slowly.  “Easy,” he murmured, lifting me gently, slipping his arms around my chest, careful not to touch the wound in my belly as he did.  “Just breathe, Artie.”  Jim’s arms were strong, his hands firm but gentle.  He turned me a little, so that my feet touched the floor.  My head stopped swimming then, and I was grateful. 

 

But once the room settled into place again, my body reported all sorts of interesting sensations.  The laudanum had stripped away my usual self control, and Jim – all at once, Jim seemed to be everywhere, all around me.  His body was hard, muscular and warm against my back, his breath warm and enticing on the back of my neck.  He held me so close that I could feel his heart beating against my back.  One of his hands had settled over my heart, and I fought not to let it race with excitement.  I caught my breath.

 

While my head reeled from Jim’s touch and I was still temporarily pliant in his arms, he shifted a little, taking my hand and using it to wrap that arm around his neck.  “Ready?” he asked. 

 

“For what?”

 

“Come on, Artie.  Like you said, we’d better be going,” he said cheerfully.  Before I could object, he stood, taking me with him.  My legs shook, nearly giving out, and my head swam sickeningly.  Jim just tightened his arm around me and forged ahead, muscling me toward the door, taking most of my weight without effort.  “Show me where your wagon is,” he rapped at the doctor.

 

“Sure.”  The doctor was so eager to be rid of us that relief flooded his face.  “I’ll show you.  Come out the back door…  That way, no one will see you.”

 

I blinked, still trying desperately to think of something, some way to convince Jim to leave me behind.

 

Maybe the effort was too much, because that same damn black curtain swept in front of my eyes again, and I lost consciousness.

 

Jim never told me how he got us back to the train despite Heron’s pursuit.  I knew he’d borrowed the doctor’s wagon, but how he snuck it past them with me in it, I couldn’t imagine.  He left that little detail out of his official report, too.  I know, because I read it carefully afterwards.

 

I wondered if he’d had to shoot someone.  Or maybe several of them.

 

Jim wouldn’t say.

 

 ********************************************************************************

  

Jim made it clear on that mission that he wouldn’t leave me behind, no matter what.  To my surprise, he wasn’t just kind while I recovered, he was even gentle.  It was a new side of Jim, a part of him I’d never seen before.  Over time, I found that whenever I was wounded, Jim behaved like that.  He’d bind up my wounds himself if he could, but if they required something more, James would stop at nothing to get me to a doctor.  Then he’d hover over me afterwards, watching the doctor closely if one was needed, or tending to me carefully himself, as if he didn’t trust anyone else to make sure that I recovered. It was the only time I ever saw Jim exhibit real patience; but when I was hurt, he’d tend me for as long as it took to get me on my feet again, and never once complain or try to rush me.

 

Jim never said anything about it, but I didn’t need words to tell me what all that meant.  I already knew.

 

Knowing that Jim cared warmed me deeply.  Yet it was curious as well.  Jim was not only careless of his own safety, he also tended to downplay his injuries.  So his solicitude towards me was surprising.  It was as if Jim felt that different rules applied to him and me.  He seemed to think that he must suffer injuries in silence and with minimal tending, whereas I must be fussed over and carefully nursed if I got hurt. 

 

And there were other oddities about the man.  I knew Jim was aware of his own striking looks.  He was far too clever and observant not to be.  Besides, I saw him use them to attract women; and James could be quite charming when he chose.  Yet no matter how beautiful the woman, James never did more than dally.  He’d bed them all right, but he’d never stay with one very long.  I never once saw him use his looks and charm to try and bind a woman to him, though many would’ve loved to have been so bound.  Though most men yearned for the security of a loving wife, a home and family, and would’ve happily used Jim’s gifts to achieve them, it was as if such an idea never even entered Jim’s mind.  He seemed far more driven to prove himself, both physically and in our work, than he was to win a woman’s heart, or to achieve any kind of love or happiness. 

 

That also seemed a bit strange to me.  Though I’d been footloose for most of my life, I’d never been alone for any long stretch of time.  At least, not until joining the Secret Service.  Like most men, I craved companionship, the warmth of a lover.  And since being a Secret Service agent made the gender I preferred too dangerous to risk long-term, I’d even thought that I’d try marriage, if I ever met the right woman.  Though our profession undoubtedly made pursuing a woman of character difficult, it wasn’t impossible. 

 

When I met an old flame named Lily Fortune in New Orleans while I was on a case, I decided to try it.

 

I had good reasons.  For one thing, I had to think of the future.  I was sure by then that though my friendship with Jim was strong, there would never be more than that between us.  Jim was too dedicated in his pursuit of women.  But our work for the Secret Service wouldn’t last forever, and since I was older, my career would perforce end sooner than Jim’s would.  And I couldn’t see Jim leaving the Secret Service early just to stay with me.  He was too dedicated, and he loved the work too much.  Sooner or later, we’d be separated.  So to stave off future loneliness, I had to make some attempt to carve out a life for myself, apart from Jim.  And when I met Lily in New Orleans, it seemed like a chance to do just that had been dropped right into my lap.  I’d loved Lily when I was young, and she was still lovely and vibrant.  Smart, too.  A hell of a woman.  I made up my mind on the spot to woo her again.

 

 It might’ve worked, except that Lily felt our profession was too dangerous.  Or maybe she sensed that my heart wasn’t really wholly hers.  Women can be extremely perceptive, after all, when it comes to matters of the heart.  For whatever reason, she rejected my proposal.  I regretted it afterwards, but I suppose my regrets were purely selfish.  I sensed that such a chance with a woman might not come again for me.  But I’ve often thought, since, that it was probably better for Lily that we didn’t marry.  Though I still loved her, that love wasn’t the same as my feelings for James.  It was shallower, tamer; a mere trickle compared to the deep, bottomless ocean that comprised my love for Jim.  I would’ve been using her; and she deserved better.

 

After Lily rejected me, I set the idea of marriage aside.  It didn’t seem as though it was in the cards for me.  But I was sure that marriage would be easy for Jim.  His chances with women were much better than mine.  He was younger, incredibly handsome, and a peacock when it came to his clothing.  Women loved the colorful suits, waistcoats and tight pants he wore, and they flocked to him whenever he entered a room.  If he ever decided that he wanted a wife, I had no doubt he could have just about any woman he wanted.  But he never spoke of it, or even seemed interested in the notion of marriage.

 

Not even when a powerful Senator’s daughter became enamored of him.

 

It happened in California.  We’d been sent to Sacramento on a case, to protect the Governor after he’d received mysterious threats against his life.  At dinner one night at his mansion, Jim had been introduced to a pretty, saucy young miss named Caroline Thrace.  She was lovely:  blonde, blue-eyed and with a hint of a purr in her voice that seemed to promise she’d be lively in bed.  She was also Senator Thrace’s only daughter.  That first night at dinner, I’d watched while Jim flirted with her, and felt a cold pang in my gut.  The girl was so much Jim’s type – lovely, intelligent, flirtatious -- it was like she’d been made for him. 

 

And Jim certainly seemed taken with her.  He did more than just flirt, he talked quietly with her as well, giving her more serious attention than he usually gave the women he dallied with.  Good thing too, because I wasn’t the only one observing them.  I watched as Senator Thrace looked over at Jim with approving eyes, and that cold feeling inside of me grew.  I pushed it ruthlessly aside.  Told myself that though one meeting did not a match make, this one certainly had possibilities.  And I wanted Jim to find a woman and settle down, didn’t I?  I wanted him to be happy, and a beautiful, charming Senator’s daughter – well, Jim could surely do worse. 

 

We found the man who’d been threatening the Governor in fairly short order.  Then we received word from Washington that we’d been granted a couple of weeks furlough.

 

“Let’s stay in Sacramento for awhile, Artie,” Jim suggested. 

 

I felt a twinge, but suppressed it.  It wasn’t as if his request was a surprise.  I’d known from the moment I’d gotten the telegram giving us time off, what Jim would want to do with it.  I just nodded and tried to smile.  “Sure.  Why not?”

 

I didn’t see much of my partner for the next two weeks, but I hadn’t expected to.  He spent most of his time with Caroline Thrace or her father.  The Senator had a whole stable full of expensive blooded horses, a lure more enticing than gold for a horseman like my partner. 

 

One morning a few days later, Jim came out of his sleeping compartment while I was drinking my morning coffee and said, “I’m going riding, Artie.” 

 

“With Caroline or the Senator?”

 

“Both,” Jim smiled.

 

I shook my head at him.  “What is that, the fourth time this week?” I teased.  “I swear, Jim sometimes I’m not sure who you like better:  Caroline or her father.  Or his horses.”

 

Jim laughed, a light, happy sound that I loved.  “Sometimes, I’m not sure myself.”

 

In Jim’s absence, I kept busy.  I read, visited some friends, checked out the local restaurants and theatrical scene.  Sacramento couldn’t compare to San Francisco in that regard, but it had a small theatrical circle that was thriving, nonetheless.  But I didn’t visit the kind of brothels I usually frequented, when I visited one alone.  Not with Jim so close at hand.  I wasn’t stupid enough to risk our friendship by daring the forbidden when Jim was in the same town.  A man never knew when he might be seen by someone who’d recognize him.  Word might get back to Jim, and I couldn’t risk that.

 

I might be losing him soon enough as it was.

 

A week later, I came back to the train earlier than I’d expected.  Jim had gone out riding with Caroline again that morning, which typically meant that I wouldn’t see him until late in the evening, if at all.  So when I came back, I expected to have the Wanderer all to myself.  But as soon I opened the door to the parlor car, I heard the low murmur of voices, and stopped abruptly.

 

“What about him?” Jim’s voice was low and soft, and it came from the direction of the couch.  I could just see Jim there, with his head propped up on the arm of the couch, with a woman in silk skirts nestled in the curve of his arm.  I could see her delicate profile.  It was Caroline Thrace, of course.  I started to close the door again silently.

 

Caroline laughed, a low, seductive sound that surprised me.  I raised an eyebrow.  I knew they’d been spending a lot of time together, but I hadn’t thought he’d be foolish enough to actually bed the girl.  Was Jim toying with a Senator’s daughter? I wondered.  Surely not.  He usually drew the line at innocents, especially girls with powerful parents.  Then again, I’m an excellent judge of character, and Caroline Thrace hadn’t exactly seemed like an innocent to me, when they first met.  Still, if Jim was bedding her, he was playing with fire…

 

All that raced through my mind as I hesitated in the doorway.   They didn’t know I was there, and I knew I should get the hell out before either of them saw me.  But some devil kept me from leaving.  Maybe it was the thought of all the interesting things I’d learned over the years, by listening in at keyholes.  Or maybe it was that heavy, delicious note in Jim’s voice that captured me.  That low, lazy, husky sound that I’d so seldom heard before.  His bedroom voice.  Maybe I just wanted to hear it some more, no matter the danger.

 

Because I would never make him sound like that….

 

I’m not sure why, but for whatever reason, I stayed.  I shut the door most of the way behind me, then stood there listening.

 

“What’s his name again?” Caroline asked, her voice still suggestively throaty. 

 

“Artie,” Jim replied, so fondly that it warmed me right down to my toes.  “Artemus Gordon,” he added, and I could tell that he was smiling.  I smiled myself.  I don’t know if Caroline could hear the easy, open affection in Jim’s voice, but I did.  It held me there as surely as his huskier, bedroom voice had, even though I knew I was taking a risk in not leaving as quietly as I’d come.  The fact that they were discussing me made me uneasy, but the warmth in Jim’s voice when he spoke of me eased the constant ache inside, that I always kept so carefully hidden from him.  Hungry for more of it, I stayed put, unable to make myself leave.

 

“Yes.  Well…”

 

“Yes what?” Jim prodded.  Through the crack in the door, I saw one of his hands rise idly, to toy with a lock of her hair.

 

“I don’t like him,” Caroline answered.  Jim’s hand froze.

 

I’d already guessed at that.  Though Caroline had been careful not to let her dislike of me show too clearly when Jim was present, I’d sensed it almost immediately.  So, painful though it was to have to cede my place at Jim’s side to a girl like that, wealthy, beautiful and able to give him all the things I never could, I’d still begged off when Jim invited me to social occasions with her.  No matter how cold it made me feel, thinking I might lose him – and to a woman who disliked me, to boot -- I wanted to give Jim every chance to make an advantageous match for himself.  Absenting myself while they courted seemed a small price to pay.  Jim and Caroline seemed to get along so well, and they made such a handsome couple, I did my utmost not to get in Jim’s way.  I’d spent some lonely hours on the train lately while he squired Caroline about, knowing that I’d probably seldom see Jim again if he married her.  But I’d always assumed that the day would come when Jim would choose a bride, so I’d told myself grimly I’d just have to get used to that.  Still, I hadn’t expected Caroline to raise the topic so soon.  Not only were they not married, they weren’t even engaged yet; and she was already complaining about me.

 

I held utterly still now, barely breathing, waiting to hear what Jim would say.

 

The hand Jim had wrapped in a curl of Caroline’s hair fell away.  I blinked in surprise.  Jim was silent for a moment, then he asked, “And why is that?  Everybody likes Artie.”  His voice was still quiet, but the barely banked heat in it was gone.  I wondered if Caroline heard the distinct chill that had replaced it, as clearly as I did.

 

Maybe she did.  She was far from stupid, and I wasn’t surprised when I heard the soft sound of a kiss just then.  Somehow I knew it wasn’t one Jim had bestowed.  That it was meant both as amends and a distraction, I had no doubt. 

 

“Aww, Jim honey…”  I heard a slight sound, a rustle of fabric, as if she’d shrugged.  “I don’t know,” she said.  But I could tell that she was lying.  “I don’t mean to insult your friend.  It’s just – the way he looks at you, the way he’s always hovering around –”

 

 _It’s not natural_.  She didn’t say it; perhaps she didn’t quite dare.  But I heard the words clearly anyway, and they shocked me.  The possibility that Jim might’ve heard them too, turned me cold.  ‘ _The way he looks at you’_ – Dear God!  Caroline Thrace suspected that I was in love with Jim!  My heart beat a painful tattoo in my chest.  No one, but no one had ever figured that out before; much less hinted at it to Jim.  I was mortified, and terrified.  Had I been that obvious?  So dangerously open about my affection that a girl who’d only seen me a few times, could perceive how I secretly felt about my partner?  Surely not… 

 

I wished, suddenly and desperately, that I’d never walked in on them like this.  Or that I’d had the good sense to get the hell out, once I’d realized they were there.

 

“You don’t understand.  Being a Secret Service agent is dangerous, and Artie’s my partner,” Jim said after a short pause.  But there was no mistaking the coldness in his voice now.  “It’s his job to watch over me.  We work together, and we have to look after each other.”

 

The relief that washed through me at Jim’s defense actually weakened my knees.  He’d mistaken my feelings for mere protectiveness.

 

“I know, but –”

 

I never learned what Caroline meant to say.  Jim cut her off, I assume with another kiss.  “Mmm.  That was nice,” he murmured. 

 

She giggled something back that I couldn’t hear.  “Come on, Caro,” Jim said, his voice warming a little as he teased her.  “You were just saying, you don’t get to spend enough time alone with me.  Now that we are, do you really want to spend the morning talking about Artie?”

 

Caroline giggled.  “No.  I can think of better things to do…”

 

I shook my head in admiration.  Jim’s reputation with women was more than justified.  Smart as she was, I doubted that Caroline realized how smoothly and cleverly she’d been manipulated, just then.  Jim didn’t want her to say anything else derogatory about me, so he’d made sure she didn’t – and made her think the change of subject was all her idea, too.

 

“So can I,” Jim murmured.  I heard a soft rustle of silk, then Caroline made a soft, entirely feminine sound of pleasure. 

 

That sound –

 

I swallowed hard, something hot and bitter twisting inside of me.  Funny, it hadn’t bothered me this much when I’d actually seen Jim kiss girls in brothels before.  But this…

 

I’d heard more than enough.  It was past time for me to go.  I shut the door the last little way and turned away gratefully.  _That’s what you get for putting your ear to the wall_ , _Artemus_ , I told myself ruefully.  I’d actually gotten off lightly, all things considered.  If Jim had ever realized I was there, eavesdropping on an intimate moment like that…   I didn’t like to think what he might’ve done.

 

Still, I felt shaken as I swung myself back down off the train car’s back platform to the ground again.  My one desire was to get away as fast as I could.  But I couldn’t banish the chill Caroline’s comments about me had caused.  I strode off beside the railroad tracks, heading back towards town, with Jim’s words beating in my ears.  _Everybody likes Artie_ …  _Artie’s my partner.  We work together… we have to look after each other…_

Jim’s regard for me was obvious, and more importantly, evidently untainted by Caroline’s hints and accusations.  That touched me deeply.  The way he’d defended me even surprised me a little.  He seemed damn fond of that girl, and somehow I’d expected that he might’ve agreed with her less-than-sterling opinion of me, at least in a joshing way.  We often teased each other rather ruthlessly, when no one else was about.  But Jim had stuck up for me in a decidedly serious way – to a Senator’s daughter who he was fond of, no less.  He’d also ignored her hint that I was an invert who had feelings for him.  Or maybe he hadn’t even understood just what she meant by it; I wasn’t sure.  Even if he had, he hadn’t believed her.  I thanked every god who watched over aging spies for that.

 

As long as Jim didn’t know, he wouldn’t hate me.

 

But that didn’t change the fact that Caroline disliked me.  More, she somehow sensed how I felt about Jim, which still made me uneasy.  I was pretty sure Jim himself was still ignorant of my secret.  I’d worked hard at keeping him that way, and what he’d said had indicated strongly that my secret was still safe.  Yet somehow, this mere sprig of a girl, that I’d only met briefly a few times, had picked up on it!  I shook my head.  I’d known Caroline was smart, but I hadn’t guessed how smart.  Then again, maybe it was her feminine intuition that’d seen through my facade of mere friendship.  Or else she’d been watching us far more closely than I’d realized. 

 

Whatever the case, her shrewd perception was troubling.  I’d always expected to lose Jim to a woman one day, but I hadn’t foreseen that the woman he chose might also perceive my own secret.  That complicated things. 

 

I walked slowly along, my hands in my pockets, thinking hard.  I had to analyze this situation carefully.

 

Caroline Thrace was a beautiful, wealthy, intelligent, headstrong girl with a doting father.  Even I had to admit, she seemed like the perfect mate for Jim.  She was beautiful enough to tame his roving eye, smart enough to hold his interest, strong enough to stand up to him, and wealthy and connected enough to further his career.  But best of all, in my opinion anyway, she seemed to really love him.  While it was harder to guess at Jim’s feelings, I’d never seen him spend so much time with one woman before, and her father as well.  And he’d seemed happy lately.  He’d been whistling and singing to himself, in those rare moments when we were together on the train.  It seemed like Jim might’ve finally taken the plunge into love himself. 

 

So.  If I accepted that they were both in love, a marriage proposal seemed the next likely step.  And from what I’d seen of Caroline, it probably wouldn’t be long in coming.  She was used to getting what she wanted, and she obviously wanted Jim badly.  I could easily imagine the changes that would happen, once she had him.  No doubt she’d either ask him to leave the Secret Service, or failing that, make sure that he transferred to one of our West Coast offices, so she could be near her family.  San Francisco, perhaps. 

 

The next hard fact that I had to face was that Caroline didn’t want me around.  Yet Jim had defended me so warmly to her …

 

Whoa there, I told myself.  Hang on.  Jim stood up for you a bit, sure.  He’s your partner, and that comes with the territory.  But Caroline’s a beautiful woman who he wants.  If it comes to a choice between you and her, who do you think he’ll choose?

 

I didn’t even have to think about that one.  Jim was like most other men in that regard.  He’d proved to me, over and over again, who he would always choose.  Partnership and friendship only went so far.  I couldn’t compete with his lover, and from what I’d just seen, it seemed like Caroline Thrace was just that.  I closed my eyes for a moment.  The sun was fully overhead now, beating down on me like an anvil.  It made my head ache.  Something else caught at my heart.

 

But I forced my eyes open again and kept walking.  I couldn’t afford to waver or get sentimental.  I had to face the truth.  I had important decisions to make.

 

What I had to do seemed painfully clear.  Once Jim asked Caroline to marry him, I’d secretly telegraph Washington asking for a new assignment there, as far away from California and the happy couple as I could get.  If there wasn’t a position available there, I’d go wherever the Secret Service saw fit to send me.  It didn’t matter where, as long as it was away from Jim.  But I wouldn’t tell Jim that it’d been my idea.  I’d just say that Col. Richmond had telegraphed me that a situation was brewing somewhere else, and I had no choice but to go.  Sorry Jim, but you know how it is….

 

It was a good plan.  That way, Jim couldn’t possibly expect me to go to his wedding, and I could miss it without hurting his feelings.  Jim would be so busy with wedding plans, and probably buying a house for himself and his fiance, that he’d never bother to check my story.  Even if Col. Richmond didn’t have anything for me in Washington, he’d surely come up with a mission somewhere else.  That was one thing about protecting the country – there was always trouble brewing somewhere.  I knew I’d be able to leave without Jim being any the wiser. 

 

Yes – that would definitely be for the best, I decided.  Though Jim had never guessed how I felt in all the years we’d been partners, I feared that having to attend his wedding would break even my considerable self control.  There was also the possibility that Caroline might come right out and tell Jim what she suspected.  Just because she hadn’t this time, didn’t mean she wouldn’t in future.  Either way, I couldn’t risk going to Jim’s wedding.  But thanks to the plan I’d just made, I wouldn’t need to.  Jim would let me miss it without a qualm, if he thought duty had called me from his side.  He understood duty better than anyone. 

 

Wherever I was sent, I’d make sure Col. Richmond knew that I wanted a permanent reassignment in the East eventually.  Either Washington or New York would do.  Once a position came open there, I’d take it, settle in, ask for a new partner and that would be that.  Painful though our separation would be for me, it would free Jim to pursue his new life.  To start a life and a family with the woman he loved, without me around to make his new wife uncomfortable.

 

I walked on with my head down, moving slowly, watching my boots.  I hated to think of a future without Jim in it, but I knew that would happen sooner or later, and I didn’t see what else I could do.  Given what Caroline had guessed about me, it seemed I had no choice.  Once he told me he’d asked her to marry him, I’d have to leave as soon as possible.

 

I didn’t go back to the train until the next morning.  I didn’t want to risk interrupting the happy pair a second time.  Not for Jim’s sake, but my own.  And if I chose to spend the evening drinking heavily, what of it?  Jim wasn’t there to either join in, or try to stop me.  

**Author's Note:**

> This story will become slash, I promise.


End file.
